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'^TEE BORZOI y 
MYSTERY STORIES ^ 

I THE WHITE ROOK 

By J. B. Harris-Burland 
“Exciting, entertaining, and mystifying. A 
detective story to warm the cockles of a Sher- 
lockian. Carries a story along with the thrills 
and no end of unexpected situations.” — Oak- 
land Tribune. 

II THE SOLITARY HOUSE 

By E. R. Punshon 
“Here is a story to start reading about 9 
p. M. in the old armchair. If the wind is 
moaning in the chimney so much the better. 
A story which is 100 per cent, thrill.” — Boston 
Record. 

III THE SHADOW OP MALREWARD 

By J. B. Harris-Burland 
“. . . Holds the reader’s attention, its many 
complications are ingeniously worked out, and 
it has several scenes well devised to send de- 
lightful shivers creeping along one’s spine. — 
New York Times. 

IV THE MIDDLE-TEMPLE MURDER 

By J. S. Fletcher 

“The story is one of the cleverest of its kind. 
. . . Even the most hardened reader of detec- 
tive mystery stories will remain mystified to 
the disclosure, yet the denouement is entirely 
logical and legitimately free from trickery.” — 
New York Evening Sun. 

V ‘^THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

By J. S. Fletcher 

[In Preparation] 

VI THE PATHWAY OP ADVENTURE 

By Ross TyreU 

VII DEAD MEN’S MONEY 

By J. S. Fletcher 


\ 










“Oblige me by sitting down again. I’m not the least bit afraid 
of your going to the police.’’ (Chapter XIV) 





‘ THE 

TALLEYRAND 

MAXIM 


\ ^ 

\ by 

J. S. FLETCHER 



NEW YORK 

ALFRED • A • KNOPF 

MCMXX 


COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY 
ALFRED A. KNOPF, Ino. 








PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

JAN -9 iakJ \\ 

©CI.A55t)a46 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

Death Brings Opportunity 

PAGE 

9 

II 

In Trust 

20 

III 

The Shop-Boy 

31 

IV 

The Fortunate Possessors 

42 

V 

Point-Blank 

53 

VI 

The Unexpected 

64 

VII 

The Supreme Inducement 

74 

VIII 

Terms 

83 

IX 

Until Next Spring 

93 

X 

The Foot-Bridge 

102 

XI 

The Prevalent Atmosphere 

113 

XII 

The Power op Attorney 

125 

XIII 

The First Trick 

137 

XIV 

Cards on the Table 

147 

XV 

Pratt Offers a Hand 

157 

XVI 

A Headquarters Conference 

167 

XVII 

Advertisement 

177 

XVIII 

The Confiding Landlord 

189 

XIX 

The Eye-Witness 

199 

XX 

The Green Man 

209 

XXI 

The Direct Charge 

218 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXII 

The Cat’spaw 

pAas 

228 

XXIII 

Smooth Face and Anxious Brain 

237 

XXIV 

The Better Half 

245 

XXV 

Dry Sherry 

256 

XXVI 

The Telephone Message 

264 

XXVII 

Restored to Energy 

272 

XXVIII 

The Woman in Black 

280 


THE 

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CHAPTER I 


DEATH BRINGS OPPORTUNITY 

Linford Pratt, senior clerk to Eldrick & Pascoe, so- 
licitors, of Barford, a young man who earnestly desired 
to get on in life, by hook or by crook, with no objection 
whatever to crookedness, so long as it could be performed 
in safety and secrecy, had once during one of his periodi- 
cal visits to the town Reference Library, lighted on a 
maxim of that other unscrupulous person. Prince Talley- 
rand, which had pleased him greatly. “With time and 
patience,’’ said Talleyrand, “the mulberry leaf is turned 
into satin.” This seemed to Linford Pratt one of the 
finest and soundest pieces of wisdom which he had ever 
known put into words. 

A mulberry leaf is a very insignificant thing, but a 
piece of satin is a highly marketable commodity, with 
money in it. Henceforth, he regarded himself as a mul- 
berry leaf which his own wit and skill must transform 
into satin: at the same time he knew that there is an- 
other thing, in addition to time and patience, which is 
valuable to young men of his peculiar qualities, a thing 
also much beloved by Talleyrand — opportunity. He 
could find the patience, and he had the time — but it 
would give him great happiness if opportunity came 
along to help in the work. In everyday language, Lin- 
ford Pratt wanted a chance — he waited the arrival of 

9 


10 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

the tide in his affairs which would lead him on to for- 
tune. 

Leave him alone — he said to himself — to be sure to take 
it at the flood. If Pratt had only known it, as he 
stood in the outer office of Eldrick & Pascoe at the end of 
a certain winter afternoon, opportunity was slowly 
climbing the staircase outside — not only opportunity, but 
temptation, both assisted by the Devil. They came at 
the right moment, for Pratt was alone ; the partners had 
gone : the other clerks had gone : the office-boy had gone : 
in another minute Pratt would have gone, too: he was 
only looking round before locking up for the night. 
Then these things came — combined in the person of an 
old man, Antony Bartle, who opened the door, pushed in 
a queer, wrinkled face, and asked in a quavering voice if 
anybody was in. 

^‘I’m in, Mr. Bartle,’’ answered Pratt, turning up 
a gas jet which he had just lowered. ‘‘Come in, sir. 
What can I do for you ? ’ ’ 

Antony Bartle came in, wheezing and coughing. He 
was a very, very old man, feeble and bent, with little 
that looked alive about him but his light, alert eyes. 
Everybody knew him — he was one of the institutions of 
Barford — as well known as the Town Hall or the Parish 
Church. For fifty years he had kept a second-hand 
bookshop in Quagg Alley, the narrow passage-way which 
connected Market Street with Beck Street. It was not 
by any means a common or ordinary second-hand book- 
shop : its proprietor styled himself an “antiquarian book- 
seller”; and he had a reputation in two Continents, and 
dealt with millionaire buyers and virtuosos in both. 


DEATH BRINGS OPPORTUNITY 11 

Barford people sometimes marvelled at the news that 
Mr. Antony Bartle had given two thousand guineas for 
a Book of Hours, and had sold a Missal for twice that 
amount to some American collector ; and they got a hazy 
notion that the old man must he well-to-do — despite his 
snuffiness and shabbiness, and that his queer old shop, 
in the window of which there was rarely an3rthing to be 
seen but a few ancient tomes, and two or three rare en- 
gravings, contained much that he could turn at an hour ’s 
notice into gold. All that was surmise — but Eldrick 
& Pascoe — ^which term included Linford Pratt — knew 
all about Antony Bartle, being his solicitors : his will was 
safely deposited in their keeping, and Pratt had been 
one of the attesting witnesses. 

The old man, having slowly walked into the outer 
office, leaned against a table, panting a little. Pratt 
hastened to open an inner door. 

‘‘Come into Mr. Eldrick ’s room, Mr. Bartle,” he said. 
“ There ^s a nice easy chair there — come and sit down in 
it. Those stairs are a bit trying, aren’t they? I often 
wish we were on the ground floor. ’ ’ 

He lighted the gas in the senior partner’s room, and 
turning back, took hold of the visitor’s arm, and helped 
him to the easy chair. Then, having closed the doors, 
he sat down at Eldrick ’s desk, put his fingers together 
and waited. Pratt knew from experience that old 
Antony Bartle would not have come there except on 
business: he knew also, having been at Eldrick & Pas- 
coe ’s for many years, that the old man would confide in 
him as readily as in either of his principals. 

“There’s a nasty fog coming on outside,” said Bartle, 


12 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

after a fit of coughing. ‘ ‘ It gets on my lungs, and then 

it makes my heart bad. Mr. Eldrick in?’’ 

‘‘Gone,” replied Pratt. “All gone, Mr. Bartle— 
only me here.” 

“You’ll do,” answered the old bookseller. “You’re 
as good as they are. ’ ’ He leaned forward from the easy 
chair, and tapped the clerk’s arm with a long, claw-like 
finger. “I say,” he continued, with a smile that was 
something between a wink and a leer, and suggestive of 
a pleased satisfaction. “I’ve had a find!” 

“Oh!” responded Pratt. “One of your rare books, 
Mr. Bartle? Got something for twopence that you’ll 
sell for ten guineas? You’re one of the lucky ones, you 
know, you are!” 

“Nothing of the sort !” chuckled Bartle. “And I had 
to pay for my knowledge, young man, before I got it — 
we all have. No — but I ’ve found something : not half an 
hour ago. Came straight here with it. Matters for 
lawyers, of course.” 

“Yes?” said Pratt inquiringly. “And — what may it 
be?” He was expecting the visitor to produce some- 
thing, but the old man again leaned forward, and dug his 
finger once more into the clerk’s sleeve. 

“I say!” he whispered. “You remember John Malla- 
thorpe and the affair of — how long is it since?” 

“Two years,” answered Pratt promptly. “Of course 
I do. Couldn’t very well forget it, or him.” 

He let his mind go back for the moment to an affair 
which had provided Barford and the neighbourhood 
with a nine days’ sensation. One winter morning, just 
two years previously, Mr. John Mallathorpe, one of the 


DEATH BRINGS OPPORTUNITY 1$ 

best-known manufacturers and richest men of the town, 
had been killed by the falling of his own mill-chimney. 
The condition of the chimney had been doubtful for some 
little time; experts had been examining it for several 
days: at the moment of the catastrophe, Mallathorpe 
himself, some of his principal managers, and a couple 
of professional steeple- jacks, were gathered at its base, 
consulting on a report. The great hundred-foot struc- 
ture above them had collapsed without the slightest warn- 
ing : Mallathorpe, his principal manager, and his cashier, 
had been killed on the spot: two other bystanders had 
subsequently died from injuries received. No such ac- 
cident had occurred in Barford, nor in the surrounding 
manufacturing district, for many years, and there had 
been much interest in it, for according to the expert’s 
conclusions the chimney was in no immediate danger. 

Other mill-owners then began to examine their chim- 
neys, and for many weeks Barford folk had talked of lit- 
tle else than the danger of living in the shadows of these 
great masses of masonry. 

But there had soon been something else to talk of. 
It sprang out of the accident — and it was of particular 
interest to persons who, like Linford Pratt, were of the 
legal profession. John Mallathorpe, so far as anybody 
knew or could ascertain, had died intestate. No solicitor 
in the town had ever made a will for him. No solicitor 
elsewhere had ever made a will for him. No one had 
ever heard that he had made a will for himself. There 
was no will. Drastic search of his safes, his desks, his 
drawers revealed nothing — not even a memorandum. 
No friend of his had ever heard him mention a will. 


14 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

He had always been something of a queer man. He was 
a confirmed bachelor. The only relation he had in the 
world was his sister-in-law, the widow of his deceased 
younger brother, and her two children — a son and a 
daughter. And as soon as he was dead, and it was 
plain that he had died intestate, they put in their claim 
to his property. 

John Mallathorpe had left a handsome property. He 
had been making money all his life. His business was a 
considerable one — he employed two thousand workpeo- 
ple. His average annual profit from his mills was reck- 
oned in thousands — four or five thousands at least. And 
some years before his death, he had bought one of the 
finest estates in the neighbourhood, Normandale Grange, 
a beautiful old house, set amidst charming and romantic 
scenery in a valley, which, though within twelve miles of 
Barford, might have been in the heart of the Highlands. 
Therefore, it was no small thing that Mrs. Richard Mal- 
lathorpe and her two children laid claim to. Up to the 
time of John Mallathorpe ^s death, they had lived in very 
humble fashion — lived, indeed, on an allowance from 
their well-to-do kinsman — for Richard Mallathorpe had 
been as much of a waster as his brother had been of a 
money-getter. And there was no withstanding their 
claim when it was finally decided that John Mallathorpe 
had died intestate — no withstanding that, at any rate, 
of the nephew and niece. The nephew had taken all the 
real estate: he and his sister had shared the personal 
property. And for some months they and their mother 
had been safely installed at Normandale Grange, and in 
full possession of the dead man ’s wealth and business. 


DEATH BRINGS OPPORTUNITY 15 

All this flashed through Linford Pratt ’s mind in a few 
seconds — he knew all the story : he had often thought of 
the extraordinary good fortune of those young people. 
To be living on charity one week — and the next to be 
legal possessors of thousands a year! — oh, if only such 
luck would come his way ! 

“Of course!” he repeated, looking thoughtfully at 
the old bookseller. “Not the sort of thing one does for- 
get in a hurry, Mr. Bartle. What of it ? ” 

Antony Bartle leaned back in his easy chair and 
chuckled — something, some idea, seemed to be affording 
him amusement. 

“I'm eighty years old,” he remarked. “No, I'm 
more, to be exact. I shall be eighty-two come February. 
When you’ve lived as long as that, young Mr. Pratt, 
you’ll know that this life is a game of topsy-turvy — to 
some folks, at any rate. Just so!” 

“You didn’t come here to tell me that, Mr. Bartle,” 
said Pratt. He was an essentially practical young man 
who dined at half-past six every evening, ha\dng lunched 
on no more than bread-and-cheese and a glass of ale, and 
he also had his evenings well mapped out. ‘ ‘ I know that 
already, sir.” 

“Aye, aye, but you’ll know more of it later on,” 
replied Bartle. “Well — you know, too, no doubt, that 
the late John Mallathorpe was a bit — only a bit — of a 
book-collector ; collected books and pamphlets relating to 
this district?” 

“I’ve heard of it,” answered the clerk. 

“He had that collection in his private room at the 
mill,” continued the old bookseller, “and when the new 


16 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

folks took hold, I persuaded them to sell it to me. There 
wasn’t such a lot — maybe a hundred volumes altogether 
— but I wanted what there was. And as they were of no 
interest to them, they sold ’em. That’s some months 
ago. I put all the books in a corner — and I never really 
examined them until this very afternoon. Then — by this 
afternoon’s post — I got a letter from a Barford man 
who’s now out in America. He wanted to know if I 
could supply him with a nice copy of Hopkinson’s His- 
tory of Barford. I knew there was one in that Malla- 
thorpe collection, so I got it out, and examined it. And 
in the pocket inside, in which there’s a map, I found — 
what d’ye think?” 

“Couldn’t say,” replied Pratt. He was still think- 
ing of his dinner, and of an important engagement to 
follow it, and he had not the least idea that old Antony 
Bartle was going to tell him anything very important. 
“Letters? Bank-notes? Something of that sort?” 

The old bookseller leaned nearer, across the corner of 
the desk, until his queer, wrinkled face was almost close 
to Pratt’s sharp, youthful one. Again he lifted the 
claw-like finger: again he tapped the clerk’s arm. 

“I found John Mallathorpe ’s will!” he whispered. 
-“His— will!” 

Linford Pratt jumped out of his chair. For a sec- 
ond he stared in speechless amazement at the old man; 
then he plunged his hands deep into his trousers ’ pockets, 
opened his mouth, and let out a sudden exclamation. 

“No!” he said. “No! John Mallathorpe ’s — will? 
His— wiU!” 


DEATH BRINGS OPPORTUNITY 17 

“Made the very day on which he died,” answered 
Bartle, nodding emphatically. 

“Queer, wasn’t it? He might have had some — pre- 
monition, eh ? ” 

Pratt sat down again. 

“Where is it?” he asked. 

“Here in my pocket,” replied the old bookseller, tap- 
ping his rusty coat. “Oh, it’s all right, I assure you. 
All duly made out, signed, and witnessed. Everything 
in order, I know ! — because a long, a very long time ago, 
I was like you, an attorney’s clerk. I’ve drafted many 
a will, and witnessed many a will, in my time. I ’ve read 
this, every word of it — it’s all right. Nothing can up- 
set it.” 

“Let’s see it,” said Pratt, eagerly. 

“Well — I’ve no objection — I know you, of course,” 
answered Bartle, “but I’d rather show it first to Mr. 
Eldrick. Couldn’t you telephone up to his house and 
ask him to run back here ? ’ ’ 

“Certainly,” replied Pratt. “He mayn’t be there, 
though. But I can try. You haven’t shown it to any- 
body else ? ’ ’ 

“Neither shown it to anybody, nor mentioned it to a 
soul,” said Bartle. “I tell you it’s not much more than 
half an hour since I found it. It’s not a long document. 
Do you know how it is that it’s never come out?” he went 
on, turning eagerly to Pratt, who had risen again. “It’s 
easily explained. The will ’s witnessed by those two men 
who were killed at the same time as John Mallathorpe! 
So, of course, there was nobody to say that it was in 


18 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

evidence. My notion is that he and those two men — 
Gaukrodger and Marshall, his manager and cashier — 
had signed it not long before the accident, and that Mal- 
lathorpe had popped it into the pocket of that book be- 
fore going out into the yard. Eh ? But see if you can 
get Mr. Eldrick down here, and we’ll read it together. 
And I say — ^this office seems uncommonly stuffy — can 
you open the window a bit or something? — I feel op- 
pressed, like.” 

Pratt opened a window which looked out on the street. 
He glanced at the old man for a moment and saw that 
his face, always pallid, was even paler than usual. 

“You’ve been talking too much,” he said. “Rest 
yourself, Mr. Bartle, while I ring up Mr. Eldrick ’s house. 
If he isn’t there. I’ll try his club — he often turns in 
there for an hour before going home.” 

He went out by a private door to the telephone box, 
which stood in a lobby used by various occupants of the 
building. And when he had rung up Eldrick ’s private 
house and was waiting for the answer, he asked himself 
what this discovery would mean to the present holders 
of the Mallathorpe property, and his curiosity — a 
strongly developed quality in him — became more and 
more excited. If Eldrick was not at home, if he could 
not get in touch with him, he would persuade old Bartle 
to let him see his find — he would cheerfully go late to 
his dinner if he could only get a peep at this strangely 
discovered document. Romance ! Why, this indeed was 
romance ; and it might be — what else ? Old Bartle had 
already chuckled about topsy-turvydom : did that mean 
that — 


DEATH BRINGS OPPORTUNITY 19 

The telephone bell rang: Eldrick had not yet reached 
his house. Pratt got on to the club: Eldrick had not 
been there. He rang off, and went back to the private 
room. 

“Can’t get hold of him, Mr. Bartle,” he began, as 
he closed the door. ‘ ‘ He ’s not at home, and he ’s not at 
the club. I say ! — ^you might as well let me have a look 


Pratt suddenly stopped. There was a strange silence 
in the room: the old man’s wheezy breathing was no 
longer heard. And the clerk moved forward quickly 
and looked round the high back of the easy chair. . . . 

He knew at once what had happened — knew that old 
Bartle was dead before he laid a finger on the wasted 
hand which had dropped helplessly at his side. He had 
evidently died without a sound or a movement — died as 
quietly as he would have gone to sleep. Indeed, he 
looked as if he had just laid his old head against the 
padding of the chair and dropped asleep, and Pratt, who 
had seen death before, knew that he would never wake 
again. He waited a moment, listening in the silence. 
Once he touched the old man’s hand ; once, he bent nearer, 
still listening. And then, without hesitation, and with 
fingers that remained as steady as if nothing had hap- 
pened, he unbuttoned Antony Bartle ’s coat, and drew a 
folded paper from the inner pocket. 


CHAPTER II 


IN TRUST 

As quietly and composedly as if he were discharging 
the most ordinary of his daily duties, Pratt unfolded 
the document, and went close to the solitary gas jet above 
Eldrick’s desk. What he held in his hand was a half- 
sheet of ruled foolscap paper, closely covered with writ- 
ing, which he at once recognized as that of the late John 
Mallathorpe. He was familiar with that writing — ^he 
had often seen it. It was an old-fashioned writing — 
clear, distinct, with every letter well and fully formed. 

^ ‘ Made it himself ! ’ ’ muttered Pratt. “ Um ! — looks as 
if he wanted to keep the terms secret. Well 

He read the will through — rapidly, but with care, 
murmuring the phraseology half aloud. 

‘‘This is the last will of me, John Mallathorpe, of 
Normandale Grange, in the parish of Normandale, in 
the West Riding of the County of York. I appoint 
Martin William Charlesworth, manufacturer, of Holly 
Lodge, Barford, and Arthur James Wyatt, chartered 
accountant, of 65, Beck Street, Barford, executors and 
trustees of this my will. I give and devise all my estate 
and eifects real and personal of which I may die possessed 
or entitled to unto the said Martin William Charlesworth 
20 


IN TRUST 

and Arthur James Wyatt upon trust for the following 
purposes to be carried out by them under the following 
instructions, namely : — ^As soon after my death as is con- 
veniently possible they will sell all my real estate, either 
by private treaty or by public auction; they shall sell 
all my personal property of any nature whatsoever ; they 
shall sell my business at Mallathorpe ’s mill in Barford 
as a going concern to any private purchaser or to any 
company already in existence or formed for the purpose 
of acquiring it; and they shall collect all debts and 
moneys due to me. And having sold and disposed of all 
my property, real and personal, and brought all the pro- 
ceeds of such sales and of such collection of debts and 
moneys into one common fund they shall first pay all 
debts owing by me and all legal duties and expenses 
arising out of my death and this disposition of my prop- 
erty and shall then distribute my estate as follows, 
namely: to each of themselves, Martin William Charles- 
worth and Arthur James Wyatt, they shall pay the sum 
of five thousand pounds ; to my sister-in-law, Ann Malla- 
thorpe, they shall pay the sum of ten thousand pounds ; 
to my nephew. Harper John Mallathorpe, they shall pay 
the sum of ten thousand pounds ; to my niece, Nesta Mal- 
lathorpe, they shall pay the sum of ten thousand pounds. 
And as to the whole of the remaining residue they shall 
pay it in one sum to the Mayor and Corporation of the 
borough of Barford in the County of York to be applied 
by the said Mayor and Corporation at their own absolute 
discretion and in any manner which seems good to them 
to the establishment, furtherance and development of 
technical and commercial education in the said borough 


^2 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

of Barford. Dated this sixteenth day of November, 

1906. 

Signed by the testator in 
the presence of us both 
present at the same 
time who in his pres- 
ence and in the pres- 
ence of each other 
have hereunto set our 
names as witnesses. 

Henry Gaukrodger, 16, Florence Street, 
Barford, Mill Manager. 

Charles Watson Marshall, 56, Laburnum 
Terrace, Barford, Cashier. 


John Mallathorpe. 


As the last word left his lips Pratt carefully folded 
up the will, slipped it into an inner pocket of his coat, 
and firmly buttoned the coat across his chest. Then, 
without as much as a glance at the dead man, he left the 
room, and again visited the telephone box. He was 
engaged in it for a few minutes. When he came out 
he heard steps coming up the staircase, and looking over 
the banisters he saw the senior partner, Eldrick, a mid- 
dle-aged man. Eldrick looked up, and saw Pratt. 

“I hear you’ve been ringing me up at the club, 
Pratt,” he said. ‘‘What is it?” 

Pratt waited until Eldrick had come up to the landing. 
Then he pointed to the door of the private room, and 
shook his head. 

“It’s old Mr. Bartle, sir,” he whispered. “He’s in 
your room there — dead!” 


IN TRUST ^ 

‘^Dead?^’ exclaimed Eldrick. “Dead!’’ 

Pratt shook his head again. 

“He came up not so long after you’d gone, sir,” he 
said. ‘ ‘ Everybody had gone but me — I was just going. 
Wanted to see you about something I don’t know what. 
He was very tottery when he came in — complained of 
the stairs and the fog. I took him into your room, to sit 
down in the easy chair. And— he died straight off. 
Just,” concluded Pratt, “just as if he was going quietly 
to sleep ! ” 

“You’re sure he is dead? — not fainting?” asked El- 
drick. 

“He’s dead, sir — quite dead,” replied Pratt. “I’ve 
rung up Dr. Melrose — he’ll be here in a minute or two 
— and the Town Hall — the police — as well. Will you 
look at him, sir?” 

Eldrick silently motioned his clerk to open the door ; 
together they walked into the room. And Eldrick looked 
at his quiet figure and wan face, and knew that Pratt was 
right. 

‘ ‘ Poor old chap ! ” he murmured, touching one of the 
thin hands. “He was a fine man in his time, Pratt; 
clever man ! And he was very, very old — one of the old- 
est men in Bar ford. Well, we must wire to his grand- 
son, Mr. Bartle Collingwood. You’ll find his address in 
the book. He’s the only relation the old fellow had.” 

“Come in for everything, doesn’t he, sir?” asked 
Pratt, as he took an address book from the desk, and 
picked up a sheaf of telegram forms. 

“Every penny!” murmured Eldrick. “Nice little 
fortune, too — a fine thing for a young fellow who’s just 


n THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

been called to the Bar. As a matter of fact, he ^11 be 
fairly well independent, even if he never sees a brief in 
his life. ’ ^ 

“He has been called, has he, sir?’ asked Pratt, laying 
a telegram form on Eldrick’s writing pad and handing 
him a pen. “1 wasn’t aware of that.” 

“Called this term — quite recently — at Gray’s Inn,” 
replied Eldrick, as he sat down. “Very promising, 
clever young man. Look here! — we’d better send two 
wires, one to his private address, and one to his chambers. 
They’re both in that book. It’s six o’clock, isn’t it? — he 
might be at his chambers yet, but he may have gone home. 
I’ll write both messages — you put the addresses on, and 
get the wire off — we must have him down here as soon 
as possible.” 

“One address is 53x, Pump Court; the other’s 96, 
Cloburn Square,” remarked Pratt consulting the book. 
^ ‘ There ’s an express from King ’s Cross at 8.15 which gets 
here midnight. ’ ’ 

“Oh, it would do if he came down first thing in the 
morning — ^leave it to him, ’ ’ said Eldrick. ‘ ‘ I say, Pratt, 
do you think an inquest will be necessary?” 

Pratt had not thought of that — ^he began to think. 
And while he was thinking, the doctor whom he had sum- 
moned came in. He looked at the dead man, asked the 
clerk a few questions, and was apparently satisfied. “I 
don’t think there’s any need for an inquest,” he said in 
reply to Eldrick. “I knew the old man very well — he 
was much feebler than he would admit. The exertion 
of coming up these stairs of yours, and the coughing 
brought on by the fog outside — that was quite enough. 


IN TRUST «5 

Of course, the death will have to be reported in the 
usual way, but I have no hesitation in giving a certifi- 
cate. You’ve let the Town Hall people know? Well, 
the body had better be removed to his rooms — we must 
send over and tell his housekeeper. He ’d no relations in 
the town, had he ? ” 

“Only one in the world that he ever mentioned — his 
grandson — a young barrister in London,” answered 
Eldrick. ‘ ‘We Ve just been wiring to him. Here, Pratt, 
you take these messages now, and get them olf. Then 
we’ll see about making all arrangements. By-the-by,” 
he added, as Pratt moved towards the door, “you don’t 
know what — ^what he came to see me about ? ’ ’ 

“Haven’t the remotest idea, sir,” answered Pratt, 
readily and glibly. “He died — just as I’ve told you — 
before he could tell me anything.” 

He went downstairs, and out into the street, and away 
to the General Post Office, only conscious of one thing, 
only concerned about one thing — that he was now the 
sole possessor of a great secret. The opportunity which 
he had so often longed for had come. And as he hur- 
ried along through the gathering fog he repeated and 
repeated a fragment of the recent conversation between 
the man who was now dead, and himself — who remained 
very much alive. 

“You haven’t shown it to anybody else?” Pratt had 
asked. 

“Neither shown it to anybody, nor mentioned it to a 
soul,” Antony Bartle had answered. So, in all that 
great town of Barford, he, Linford Pratt, he, alone out 
of a quarter of a million people, knew — ^what? The 


g0 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

magnitude of what he knew not only amazed but exhil- 
arated him. There were such possibilities for himself in 
that knowledge. He wanted to be alone, to think out 
those possibilities ; to reckon up what they came to. Of 
one thing he was already certain — they should be, must 
be, turned to his own advantage. 

It was past eight o’clock before Pratt was able to go 
home to his lodgings. His landlady, meeting him in the 
hall, hoped that his dinner would not be spoiled : Pratt, 
who relied greatly on his dinner as his one great meal 
of the day, replied that he fervently hoped it wasn ’t, but 
that if it was it couldn’t be helped, this time. For once 
he was thinking of something else than his dinner — as 
for his engagement for that evening, he had already 
thrown it over: he wanted to give all his energies and 
thoughts and time to his secret. Nevertheless, it was 
characteristic of him that he washed, changed his clothes, 
ate his dinner, and even glanced over the evening news- 
paper before he turned to the real business which was 
already deep in his brain. But at last, when the maid 
had cleared away the dinner things, and he was alone 
in his sitting-room, and had lighted his pipe, and mixed 
himself a drop of whisky-and-water — the only indul- 
gence in such things that he allowed himself within the 
twenty-four hours — he drew John Mallathorpe’s will 
from his pocket, and read it carefully three times. And 
then he began to think, closely and steadily. 

First of all, the will was a good will. Nothing could 
upset it. It was absolutely valid. It was not couched 
in the terms which a solicitor would have employed, but 
it clearly and plainly expressed John Mallathorpe’s 


IN TRUST 27 

intentions and meanings in respect to the disposal of his 
property. Nothing could be clearer. The properly 
appointed trustees were to realize his estate. They 
were to distribute it according to his specified instruc- 
tions. It was all as plain as a pikestaff. Pratt, who was 
a good lawyer, knew what the Probate Court would say 
to that will if it were ever brought up before it, as he 
did, a quite satisfactory will. And it was validly ex- 
ecuted. Hundreds of people, competent to do so, could 
swear to John Mallathorpe ’s signature; hundreds to 
Gaukrodger ’s ; thousands to Marshall’s — who as cashier 
was always sending his signature broadcast. No, there 
was nothing to do but to put that into the hands of the 
trustees named in it, and then . . . 

Pratt thought next of the two trustees. They were 
well-known men in the town. They were comparatively 
young men — about forty. They were men of great 
energy. Their chief interests were in educational mat- 
ters — that, no doubt, was why John Mallathorpe had ap- 
pointed them trustees. Wyatt had been plaguing the 
town for two years to start commercial schools : Charles- 
worth was a devoted champion of technical schools. 
Pratt knew how the hearts of both would leap, if he sud- 
denly told them that enormous funds were at their dis- 
posal for the furtherance of their schemes. And he 
also knew something else — that neither Charlesworth nor 
Wyatt had the faintest, remotest notion or suspicion that 
John Mallathorpe had ever made such a will, or they 
would have moved heaven and earth, pulled down Nor- 
mandale Grange and Mallathorpe ’s Mill, in their efforts 
to find it. 


28 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

But the effect — the effect of producing the will — now ? 
Pratt, like everybody else, had been deeply interested in 
the Mallathorpe affair. There was so little doubt that 
John Mallathorpe had died intestate, such absolute cer- 
tainty that his only living relations were his deceased 
brother’s two children and their mother, that the neces- 
sary proceedings for putting Harper Mallathorpe and 
his sister Nesta in possession of the property, real and 
personal, had been comparatively simple and speedy. 
But — what was it worth? What would the two trus- 
tees have been able to hand over to the Mayor and Cor- 
poration of Barford, if the will had been found as soon 
as John Mallathorpe died ? Pratt, from what he remem- 
bered of the bulk and calculations at the time, made a 
rapid estimate. As near as he could reckon, the Mayor 
and Corporation would have got about £300,000. 

That, then — and this was what he wanted to get at — 
was what these young people would lose if he produced 
the will. Nay! — on second thoughts, it would be much 
more, very much more in some time; for the manufac- 
turing business was being carried on by them, and was 
apparently doing as well as ever. It was really an enor- 
mous amount which they would lose — and they would get 
— what? Ten thousand apiece and their mother a like 
sum. Thirty thousand pounds in all — in comparison 
with hundreds of thousands. But they would have no 
choice in the matter. Nothing could upset that will. 

He began to think of the three people whom the pro- 
duction of this will would disposses. He knew little of 
them beyond what common gossip had related at the time 
of John Mallathorpe ’s sudden death. They had lived 


IN TRUST «9 

in very quiet fashion, somewhere on the outskirts of the 
town, until this change in their fortunes. Once or twice 
Pratt had seen Mrs. Mallathorpe in her carriage in the 
Barford streets — somebody had pointed her out to him, 
and had observed sneeringly that folk can soon adapt 
themselves to circumstances, and that Mrs. Mallathorpe 
now gave herself all the airs of a duchess, though she 
had been no more than a hospital nurse before she mar- 
ried Richard Mallathorpe. And Pratt had also seen 
young Harper Mallathorpe now and then in the town — 
since the good fortune arrived — and had envied him: 
he had also thought what a strange thing it was that 
money went to young fellows who seemed to have no par- 
ticular endowments of brain or energy. Harper was 
a very ordinary young man, not over intelligent in ap- 
pearance, who, Pratt had heard, was often seen lounging 
about the one or two fashionable hotels of the place. As 
for the daughter, Pratt did not remember having ever set 
eyes on her — but he had heard that up to the time of John 
Mallathorpe ’s death she had earned her own living as a 
governess, or a nurse, or something of that sort. 

He turned from thinking of these three people to 
thoughts about himself. Pratt often thought about him- 
self, and always in one direction — the direction of self- 
advancement. He was always wanting to get on. He 
had nobody to help him. He had kept himself since he 
was seventeen. His father and mother were dead; he 
had no brothers or sisters — the only relations he had, 
uncles and aunts, lived — some in London, some in Can- 
ada. He was now twenty-eight, and earning four pounds 
a week. He had immense confidence in himself, but he 


30 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

had never seen much chance of escaping from drudgery. 
He had often thought of asking Eldrick & Pascoe to give 
him his articles — but he had a shrewd idea that his re- 
quest would be refused. No — it was difficult to get out 
of a rut. And yet — he was a clever fellow, a good-look- 
ing fellow, a sharp, shrewd, able — and here was a chance, 
such a chance as scarcely ever comes to a man. He 
would be a fool if he did not take it, and use it to his 
own best and lasting advantage. 

And so he locked up the will in a safe place, and went 
to bed, resolved to take a bold step towards fortune on 
the morrow. 


CHAPTER III 
THE SHOP-BOY 


When Pratt arrived at Eldrick & Pascoe’s office at his 
usual hour of nine next morning, he found the senior 
partner already there. And with him was a young man 
whom the clerk at once set down as Mr. Bartle Colling- 
wood, and looked at with considerable interest and cur- 
iosity. He had often heard of Mr. Bartle Collingwood, 
but had never seen him. He knew that he was the only 
son. of old Antony Bartle ’s only child — a daughter who 
had married a London man ; he knew, too, that Colling- 
wood ’s parents were both dead, and that the old book- 
seller had left their son everything he possessed — a very 
nice little fortune, as Eldrick had observed last night. 
And since last night he had known that Collingwood had 
just been called to the Bar, and was on the threshold of 
what Eldrick, who evidently knew all about it, believed 
to be a promising career. Well, there he was in the 
flesh; and Pratt, who was a born observer of men and 
events, took a good look at him as he stood just within 
the private room, talking to Eldrick. 

A good-looking fellow ; what most folk would call hand- 
some; dark, clean-shaven, tall, with a certain air of re- 
serve about his well-cut features, firm lips, and steady 
eyes that suggested strength and determination. He 

31 


THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

would look very well in wig and gown, decided Pratt, 
viewing matters from a professional standpoint; he was 
just the sort that clients would feel a natural confidence 
in, and that juries would listen to. Another of the lucky 
ones, too ; for Pratt knew the contents of Antony Bartle’s 
will, and that the young man at whom he was looking 
had succeeded to a cool five-and-twenty thousand pounds, 
at least, through his grandfather’s death. 

‘‘Here is Pratt,” said Eldrick, glancing into the outer 
office as the clerk entered it. “Pratt, come in here — 
here is Mr. Bartle Collingwood. He would like you to 
tell him the facts about Mr. Bartle’s death.” 

Pratt walked in — armed and prepared. He was a 
clever hand at foreseeing things, and he had known all 
along that he would have to answer questions about the 
event of the previous night. 

“There’s very little to tell, sir,” he said, with a polite 
acknowledgment of Collingwood ’s greeting. “Mr. 
Bartle came up here just as I was leaving — everybody 
else had left. He wanted to see Mr. Eldrick. Why, he 
didn’t say. He was coughing a good deal when he came 
in, and he complained of the fog outside, and of the 
stairs. He said something — just a mere mention — 
about his heart being bad. I lighted the gas in here, and 
helped him into the chair. He just sat down, laid his 
head back, and died.” 

“Without saying anything further?” asked Colling- 
wood. 

“Not a word more, Mr. Collingwood,” answered 
Pratt. “He — ^well, it was just as if he had dropped off 
to sleep. Of course, at first I thought he’d fainted, but 


33 


THE SHOP-BOY 

I soon saw what it was — it so happens that I’ve seen a 
death just as sudden as that, once before — my landlady ’s 
husband died in a very similar fashion, in my presence. 
There was nothing I could do, Mr. Collingwood — except 
ring up Mr. Eldrick, and the doctor, and the police. ’ ’ 

‘‘Mr. Pratt made himself very useful last night in 
making arrangements,” remarked Eldrick, looking at 
Collingwood. “As it is, there is very little to do. There 
will be no need for any inquest; Melrose has given his 
certificate. So — there are only the funeral arrange- 
ments. We can help you with that matter, of course. 
But first you ’d no doubt like to go to your grandfather ’s 
place and look through his papers? We have his 
will here, you know — and I’ve already told you its 
effect.” 

“I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Pratt,” said Colling- 
wood, turning to the clerk. He turned again to Eld- 
rick. “All right,” he went on. “I’ll go over to Quagg 
Alley. Bye-the-bye, Mr. Pratt — my grandfather didn’t 
tell you anything of the reason of his call here ? ’ ’ 

“Not a word, sir,” replied Pratt. “Merely said he 
wanted Mr. Eldrick.” 

‘ ‘ Had he any legal business in process ? ’ ’ asked Colling- 
wood. 

Eldrick and his clerk both shook their heads. No, 
Mr. Bartle had no business of that sort that they knew 
of. Nothing — but there again Pratt was prepared. 

“It might have been about the lease of that property 
in Horsebridge Land, sir,” he said, glancing at his prin- 
cipal. “He did mention that, you know, when he was 
in here a few weeks ago. ’ ’ 


34 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

^^Just so,’’ agreed Eldrick. ‘‘Well, you’ll let me 
know if we can be of use,” he went on, as Collingwood 
turned away. “Pratt can be at your disposal, any 
time. ’ ’ 

Collingwood thanked him and went off. He had 
travelled down from London by the earliest morning 
train, and leaving his portmanteau at the hotel of the 
Barford terminus, had gone straight to Eldrick & Pas- 
coe’s office; accordingly this was his first visit to the 
shop in Quagg Alley. But he knew the shop and its sur- 
roundings well enough, though he had not been in Bar- 
ford for some time; he also knew Antony Bartle’s old 
housekeeper, Mrs. Clough, a rough and ready York- 
shirewoman, who had looked after the old man as long 
as he, Collingwood, could remember. She received him 
as calmly as if he had merely stepped across thj) street 
to inquire after his grandfather’s health. 

“I thowt ye’d be down here first thing, Mestur Col- 
lingwood,” she said, as he walked into the parlor at the 
back of the shop. “Of course, there’s naught to be done 
except to see after yer grandfather’s burying. I don’t 
know if ye were surprised or no when t’ lawyers telly- 
graphed to yer last night? I weren’t surprised to hear 
what had happened. I ’d been expecting summat o ’ that 
sort this last month or two. ’ ’ 

“You mean — he was failing?” asked Collingwood. 

“He were gettin’ feebler and feebler every day,” said 
the housekeeper. ‘ ‘ But nobody dare say so to him, and 
he wouldn’t admit it his-self. He were that theer high- 
spirited ’at he did things same as if he were a young man. 
But I knew how it ’ud be in the end — and so it has been 


THE SHOP-BOY 35 

—I knew he’d go off all of a sudden. And of course I 
had all in readiness — when they brought him back last 
night there was naught to do but lay him out. Me and 
Mrs. Thompson next door, did it, i’ no time. Wheer will 
you be for buryin ’ him, Mestur Collingwood ? ’ ’ 

“We must think that over,” answered Collingwood. 
“Well, an’ theer’s all ready for that, too,” responded 
Mrs. Clough. “He’s had his grave all ready i’ the cem- 
etery this three year — I remember when he bowt it — 
it’s under a yew-tree, and he told me ’at he’d ordered 
his monnyment an’ all. So yer an’ t’ lawyers’ll have no 
great trouble about them matters. Mestur Eldrick, he 
gev ’ orders for t ’ coffin last night. ’ ’ 

Collingwood left these gruesome details — highly pleas- 
ing to their narrator — and went up to look at his dead 
grandfather. He had never seen much of him, but they 
had kept up a regular correspondence, and always been 
on terms of affection, and he was sorry that he had not 
been with the old man at the last. He remained looking 
at the queer, quiet, old face for a while; when he went 
down again, Mrs. Clough was talking to a sharp-looking 
lad, of apparently sixteen or seventeen years, who stood 
at the door leading into the shop, and who glanced at 
Collingwood with keen interest and speculation. 

“Here’s Jabey Naylor wants to know if he’s to do 
aught, Mestur, ’ ’ said the housekeeper. ‘ ‘ Of course, I ’ve 
telled him ’at we can’t have the shop open till the bury- 
ing ’s over — so I don’t know what theer is that he can 
do.” 

“Oh, well, let him come into the shop with me,” 
answered Collingwood. He motioned the lad to follow 


36 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

him out of the parlour. ^‘So you were Mr. Bartle’a as- 
sistant, eh?’^ he asked. “Had he anybody else?” 

“Nobody but me, sir,” replied the lad. “I’ve been 
with him a year. ’ ’ 

“And your name’s what?” inquired Collingwood. 

“Jabez Naylor, sir, but everybody call me Jabey.” 

‘ ‘ I see — J abey for short, eh ? ” said Collingwood good- 
humouredly. He walked into the shop, followed by the 
boy, and closed the door. The outer door into Quagg 
Alley was locked : a light blind was drawn over the one 
window; the books and engravings on the shelves and 
in the presses were veiled in a half-gloom. “Well, as 
Mrs. Clough says, we can’t do any business for a few 
days, Jabey — after that we must see what can be done. 
You shall have your wages just the same, of course, and 
you may look in every day to see if there’s anything 
you can do. You were here yesterday, of course? Were 
you in the shop when Mr. Bartle went out?” 

“Yes, sir, ’ ’ replied the lad. “I’d been in with him all 
the afternoon. I was here when he went out — and here 
when they came to say he’d died at Mr. Eldrick’s.” 

Collingwood sat down in his grandfather’s chair, at 
a big table, piled high with books and papers, which 
stood in the middle of the floor. 

“Did my grandfather seem at all unwell when he 
went out?” he asked. 

“No, sir. He had been coughing a bit more than usual 
— that was all. There was a fog came on about flve 
o’clock, and he said it bothered him.” 

“What had he been doing during the afternoon? 
Anything particular ? ’ ’ 


THE SHOP-BOY 37 

“Nothing at all particular before half -past four or 
so, sir.’^ 

Collingwood took a closer look at Jabez Naylor. He 
saw that he was an observant lad, evidently of superior 
intelligence — a good specimen of the sharp town lad, 
well trained in a modem elementary school. 

“ Oh ? ” he said. ‘ ‘ Nothing particular before half-past 
four, eh? Did he do something particular after half- 
past four ? ’ ’ 

“There was a post came in just about then, sir,” 
answered Jabey. “There was an American letter — 
that’s it, sir — just in front of you. Mr. Bartle read it, 
and asked me if we’d got a good clear copy of Hopkin- 
son’s History of Barford. I reminded him that there 
was a copy amongst the books that had been bought from 
Mallathorpe ’s Mill some time ago.” 

“Books that had belonged to Mr. John Mallathorpe, 
who was killed?” asked Collingwood, who was fully 
acquainted with the chimney accident. 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Bartle bought a lot of books that Mr. 
Mallathorpe had at the Mill — local books. They’re 
there in that corner : they were put there when I fetched 
them, and he’d never looked over them since, particu- 
larly.” 

“Well — and this History of Barford f You reminded 
him of it?” 

“I got it out for him, sir. He sat down — ^where you’re 
sitting — and began to examine it. He said something 
about it being a nice copy, and he ’d get it off that night — 
that’s it, sir: I didn’t read it, of course. And then he 
took some papers out of a pocket that’s inside it, and I 


38 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

heard him say ^ Bless my soul — who ’d have thought it ! ’ ” 

Collingwood picked up the book which the boy indi- 
cated — a thick, substantially bound volume, inside one 
cover of which was a linen pocket, wherein were some 
loose maps and plans of Barford. 

' ‘ These what he took out ? ” he asked, holding them up. 

‘‘Yes, sir, but there was another paper, with writing 
on it — a biggish sheet of paper — written all over.’’ 

“Did you see what the writing was? Did you see 
any of it?” 

“No, sir — only that it was writing. I was dusting 
those shelves out, over there; when I heard Mr. Bartle 
say what he did. I just looked round, over my shoulder 
-pthat was all.” 

‘‘Was he reading this paper that you speak of?” 

“Yes, sir — he was holding it up to the gas, reading it.” 

“Do you know what he did with it?” 

“Yes, sir — he folded it up and put it in his pocket.” 

“Did he say any more — make any remark?” 

“No, sir. He wrote a letter then. ” 

“At once?” 

“Yes, sir — straight off. But he wasn’t more than a 
minute writing it. Then he sent me to post it at the 
pillar-box, at the end of the Alley.” 

“Did you read the address?” 

The lad turned to a book which stood with others in a 
rack over the chimney-piece, and tapped it with his 
finger. 

“Yes, sir — ^because Mr. Bartle gave orders when I first 
came here that a register of every letter sent out was to 
be kept — I’ve always entered them in this book.” 


THE SHOP-BOY 39 

“And this letter you’re talking about — to whom was 
it addressed?” 

“Miss Mallathorpe, Normandale Grange, sir.” 

“You went and posted it at once?” 

‘ ‘ That very minute, sir. ’ ’ 

“Was it soon afterwards that Mr. Bartle went out?” 

“He went out as soon as I came back, sir.” 

“And you never saw him again?” 

Jabey shook his head. 

“Not alive, sir, ” he answered. “ I saw him when they 
brought him back.” 

“How long had he been out when you heard he was 
dead?” 

“About an hour, sir — just after six it was when they 
told Mrs. Clough and me. He went out at ten minutes 
past five.” 

Collingwood got up. He gave the lad’s shoulder a 
friendly squeeze. 

“All right!” he said. “Now you seem a smart, intel- 
ligent lad — don’t mention a word to any one of what 
we’ve been talking about. You have not mentioned it 
before, I suppose? Not a word? That’s right — don’t. 
Come in again tomorrow morning to see if I want you to 
be here as usual. I’m going to put a manager into this 
shop.” 

When the boy had gone Collingwood locked up the 
shop from the house side, put the key in his pocket, and 
went into the kitchen. 

“Mrs. Clough,” he said. “I want to see the clothes 
which my grandfather was wearing when he was brought 
home last night. Where are they?” 


40 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘^They’re in that little room aside of his bed-chamber, 
Mestur Collingwood, ’ ’ replied the housekeeper. ‘‘I laid 
’em all there, on the clothes-press, just as they were taken 
off of him, by Lawyer Eldrick’s orders — he said they 
hadn’t been examined, and wasn’t to be, till you came. 
Nobody whatever ’s touched ’em since.” 

Collingwood went upstairs and into the little room — 
a sort of box-room opening out of that in which the old 
man lay. There were the clothes; he went through the 
pockets of every garment. He found such things as 
keys, a purse, loose money, a memorandum book, a book- 
seller’s catalogue or two, two or three letters of a busi- 
ness sort — ^but there was no big folded paper, covered 
with writing, such as Jabey Naylor had described. 

The mention of that paper had excited Collingwood ’s 
curiosity. He rapidly summed up what he had learned. 
His grandfather had found a paper, closely written upon, 
in a book which had been the property of John Malla- 
thorpe, deceased. The discovery had surprised him, 
for he had given voice to an exclamation of what was 
evidently astonishment. He had put the paper in his 
pocket. Then he had written a letter — to Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe of Normandale Grange. When his shop-boy had 
posted that letter, he himself had gone out — to his solic- 
itor. What, asked Collingwood, was the reasonable pre- 
sumption? The old man had gone to Eldrick to show 
him the paper which he had found.. 

He lingered in the little room for a few minutes, think- 
ing. No one but Pratt had been with Antony Bartle at 
the time of his seizure and sudden death. What sort 
of a fellow was Pratt ? Was he honest? Was his word 


41 


THE SHOP-BOY 

to be trusted? Had he told the precise truth about the 
old man’s death. He was evidently a suave, polite, 
obliging sort of fellow, this clerk, but it was a curious 
thing that if Antony Bartle had that paper, whatever 
it was — in his pocket when he went to Eldrick’s office 
it should not be in his pocket still — if his clothing had 
really remained untouched. Already suspicion was in 
Collingwood ’s mind — vague and indefinable, but there. 

He was half inclined to go straight back to Eldrick 
& Pascoe’s and tell Eldrick what Jabey Naylor had just 
told him. But he reflected that while Naylor went out 
to post the letter, the old bookseller might have put the 
paper elsewhere ; locked it up in his safe, perhaps. One 
thing, however, he, Collingwood, could do at once — he 
could ask Mrs. Mallathorpe if the letter referred to the 
paper. He was fully acquainted with all the facts of 
the Mallathorpe history; old Bartle, knowing they would 
interest his grandson, had sent him the local newspaper 
accounts of its various episodes. It was only twelve 
miles to Normandale Grange — a motor-car would carry 
him there within the hour. He glanced at his watch — 
just ten o ’clock. 

An hour later, Collingwood found himself standing 
in a fine oak-panelled room, the windows of which 
looked out on a romantic valley whose thickly wooded 
sides were still bright with the red and yellow tints of 
autumn. A door opened — he turned, expecting to see 
Mrs. Mallathorpe. Instead, he found himself looking at 
a girl, who glanced inquiringly at him, and from him to 
the card which he had sent in on his arrival. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE FORTUNATE POSSESSORS 

Collingwood at once realized that he was in the pres- 
ence of one of the two fortunate young people who had 
succeeded so suddenly — and, according to popular opin- 
ion, so unexpectedly — to John Mallathorpe ’s wealth. 
This was evidently Miss Nesta Mallathorpe, of whom 
he had heard, but whom he had never seen. She, how- 
ever, was looking at him as if she knew him, and she 
smiled a little as she acknowledged his bow. 

“My mother is out in the grounds, with my brother,’^ 
she said, motioning Collingwood towards a chair. 
“Won’t you sit down, please? — I’ve sent for her; she 
will be here in a few minutes.” 

Collingwood sat down; Nesta Mallathorpe sat down, 
too, and as they looked at each other she smiled again. 

“I have seen you before, Mr. Collingwood,” she said. 
“I knew it must be you when they brought up your 
card.” 

Collingwood used his glance of polite inquiry to make 
a closer inspection of his hostess. He decided that Nesta 
Mallathorpe was not so much pretty as eminently at- 
tractive — a tall, well-developed, warm-coloured young 
woman, whose clear grey eyes and red lips and general 
bearing indicated the possession of good health and spir- 

42 


THE FORTUNATE POSSESSORS 43 

its. And he was quite certain that if he had ever seen 
her before he would not have forgotten it. 

‘‘Where have you seen me?” he asked, smiling back 
at her. 

“Have you forgotten the mock-trial — year before 
last?” she asked. 

Collingwood remembered what she was alluding to. 
He had taken part, in company with various other law 
students, in a mock-trial, a breach of promise case, for 
the benefit of a certain London hospital, to him had 
fallen one of the principal parts, that of counsel for the 
plaintiff. “When I saw your name, I remembered it 
at once, ^ ^ she went on. ‘ ‘ I was there — I was a’ proba- 
tioner at St. Chad’s Hospital at that time.” 

“Dear me!” said Collingwood. “I should have 
thought our histrionic efforts would have been forgotten. 
I’m afraid I don’t remember much about them, except 
that we had a lot of fun out of the affair. So you were 
at St. Chad’s?” he continued, with a reminiscence of 
the surroundings of the institution they were talking of. 
“Very different to Normandale!” 

“Yes,” she replied. “Very — very different to Nor- 
mandale. But when I was at St. Chad’s, I didn’t know 
that I — that we should ever come to Normandale. ’ ’ 

“And now that you are here?” he asked. 

The girl looked out through the big window on the 
valley which lay in front of the old house, and she shook 
her head a little. 

“It’s very beautiful,’ she answered, “but I sometimes 
wish I was back at St. Chad’s — with something to do. 
Here — there’s nothing to do but to do nothing.” Col- 


44 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

lingwood realized that this was not the complaint of the 
well-to-do young woman who finds time hang heavy — it 
was rather indicative of a desire for action. 

‘‘I understand!” he said. ^‘I think I should feel 
like that. One wants — I suppose — is it action, move- 
ment, what is it ? ” 

^‘Better call it occupation — that’s a plain term,” she 
answered. “We’re both suffering from lack of occu- 
pation here, my brother and I. And it’s bad for us — 
especially for him. ’ ’ 

Before Collingwood could think of any suitable reply 
to this remarkably fresh and candid statement, the door 
opened, and Mrs. Mallathorpe came in, followed by her 
son. And the visitor suddenly and immediately noticed 
the force and meaning of Nesta Mallathorpe ’s last re- 
mark. Harper Mallathorpe, a good-looking, but not re- 
markably intelligent appearing young man, of about 
Collingwood ’s own age, gave him the instant impression 
of being bored to death ; the lack-lustre eye, the aimless 
lounge, the hands thrust into the pockets of his Norfolk 
jacket as if they took refuge there from sheer idleness — 
all these things told their tale. Here, thought Colling- 
wood, was a fine example of how riches can be a curse — 
relieved of the necessity of having to earn his daily bread 
by labour. Harper Mallathorpe was finding life itself 
laborious. 

But there was nothing of aimlessness, idleness, or lack 
of vigour in Mrs. Mallathorpe. She was a woman of 
character, energy, of brains — Collingwood saw all that 
at one glance. A little, neat-figured, compact sort of 
woman, still very good-looking, still on the right side 


45 


THE FORTUNATE POSSESSORS 

of fifty, with quick movements and sharp glances out of 
a pair of shrewd eyes : this, he thought, was one of those 
women who will readily undertake the control and man- 
agement of big affairs. He felt, as Mrs. Mallathorpe 
turned inquiring looks on him, that as long as she was in 
charge of them the Mallathorpe family fortunes would 
be safe. 

“Mother,’’ said Nesta, handing Collingwood’s card to 
Mrs. Mallathorpe, “this gentleman is Mr. Bartle Colling- 
wood. He’s — aren’t you? — yes, a barrister. He wants 
to see you. Why, I don’t know. I have seen Mr. Col- 
lingwood before — but he didn ’t remember me. Now he ’ll 
tell you what he wants to see you about. ’ ’ 

“If you’ll allow me to explain why I called on you, 
Mrs. Mallathorpe,” said Collingwood, “I don’t suppose 
you ever heard of me — but you know, at any rate, the 
name of my grandfather, Mr. Antony Bartle, the book- 
seller, of Barford? My grandfather is dead — he died 
very suddenly last night.” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe and Nesta murmured words of polite 
sympathy. Harper suddenly spoke — as if mere words 
were some relief to his obvious boredom. 

“I heard that, this morning,” he said, turning to his 
mother. “Hopkins told me — he was in town last night. 
I meant to tell you. ’ ’ 

“Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Mallathorpe, glancing at 
some letters which stood on a rack above the mantelpiece. 
“Why — I had a letter from Mr. Bartle this very morn- 
ing!” 

“It is that letter that I have come to see you about,” 
said Collingwood. ‘ ‘ I only got down here from London, 


46 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

at half -past eight this morning, and of course, I have 
made some inquiries about the circumstances of my 
grandfather’s sudden death. He died very suddenly in- 
deed at Mr. Eldrick ’s office. He had gone there on some 
business about which nobody knows nothing — he died 
before he could mention it. And according to his shop- 
boy, Jabey Naylor, the last thing he did was to write a 
letter to you. Now — I have reason for asking — would 
you mind telling me, Mrs. Mallathorpe, what that letter 
was about?” Mrs. Mallathorpe moved over to the 
hearth, and took an envelope from the rack. She handed 
it to Collingwood, indicating that he could open it. And 
Collingwood drew out one of old Bartle’s memorandum 
forms, and saw a couple of lines in the familiar crabbed 
handwriting : 

“Mrs. Mallathorpe, Normandale Grange. 

“Madam, — If you should drive into town tomorrow, 
will you kindly give me a call? I want to see you par- 
ticularly. 

“Respectfully, A. Bartle.” 

Collingwood handed back the letter. 

“Have you any idea to what that refers?” he asked. 

“Well, I think I have — perhaps,” answered Mrs. 
Mallathorpe. “Mr. Bartle persuaded us to sell him 
some books — local books — which my late brother-in-law 
had at his office in the mill. And since then he has 
been very anxious to buy more local books and pamphlets 
about this neighbourhood, and he had some which Mr. 
Bartle was very anxious indeed to get hold of. I sup- 


THE FORTUNATE POSSESSORS 47 

pose he wanted to see me about that.’^ Collingwood 
made no remarks for the moment. He was wondering 
whether or not to tell what Jabey Naylor had told him 
about this paper taken from the linen pocket inside the 
History of Barford. But Mrs. Mallathorpe’s ready ex- 
planation had given him a new idea, and he rose from 
his chair. 

Thank you,” he said. “I suppose that’s it. You 
may think it odd that I wanted to know what he’d writ- 
ten about, but as it was certainly the last letter he 
wrote ” 

‘‘Oh, I’m quite sure it must have been that!” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Mallathorpe. “And as I am going into 
Barford this afternoon, in any case, I meant to call at 
Mr. Bartle’s. I’m sorry to hear of his death, poor old 
gentleman! But he was very old indeed, wasn’t he?” 

“He was well over eighty,” replied Collingwood. 
“Well, thank you again — and good-bye — I have a motor- 
car waiting outside there, and I have much to do in Bar- 
ford when I get back. ’ ’ 

The two young people accompanied Collingwood into 
the hall. And Harper suddenly brightened. 

‘ ‘ I say ! ” he said. ‘ ‘ Have a drink before you go. It ’s 
a long way in and out. Come into the dining-room.” 

But Collingwood caught Nesta’s eye, and he was quick 
to read a signal in it. 

‘ ‘ No, thanks awfully ! ” he answered. ‘ ‘ I won ’t really 
— I must get back — I ’ve such a lot of things to attend to. 
This is a very beautiful place of yours,” he went on, as 
Harper, whose face had fallen at the visitor’s refusal, 


4f8 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

followed with his sister to where the motor-car waited. 
^ ‘ It might be a hundred miles from anywhere. ’ ^ 

‘Ht’s a thousand miles from anywhere!’’ muttered 
Harper. * ‘ Nothing to do here ! ’ ’ 

“No hunting, shooting, fishing?” asked Collingwood. 
“Get tired of ’em? Well, why not make a private golf- 
links in your park? You’d get a fine sporting course 
round there.” 

“That’s a good notion. Harper,” observed Nesta, with 
some eagerness. “You could have it laid out this winter. ’ ’ 
Harper suddenly looked at Collingwood. 

“Going to stop in Barford?” he asked. 

“Till I settle my grandfather’s affairs — ^yes,” an- 
swered Collingwood. 

“Come and see us again,” said Harper. “Come for 
the night — we’ve got a jolly good billiard table.” 

“Do!” added Nesta heartily. 

“Since you’re so kind, I will, then,” replied Colling- 
wood. ‘ ‘ But not for a few days. ’ ’ 

He drove off — to wonder why he had visited Norman- 
dale Grange at all. For Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s explana- 
tion of the letter was doubtless the right one: Colling- 
wood, little as he had seen of Antony Bartle, knew what 
a veritable sleuth-hound the old man was where rare books 
or engravings were concerned. Yet — why the sudden ex- 
clamation on finding that paper? Why the immediate 
writing of the letter to Mrs. Mallathorpe? Why the 
setting off to Eldrick & Pascoe’s office as soon as the let- 
ter was written? It all looked as if the old man had 
found some document, the contents of which related to 
the Mallathorpe family, and was anxious to communicate 


THE FORTUNATE POSSESSORS 49 

its nature to Mrs. Mallathorpe, and to his own solicitor, 
as soon as possible. 

*‘But that’s probably only my fancy,’’ he mused, as he 
sped back to Barford; ‘‘the real explanation is doubtless 
that suggested by Mrs. Mallathorpe. Something made 
the old man think of the collection of local books at Nor- 
mandale Grange — and he immediately wrote off to ask 
her to see him, with the idea of persuading her to let him 
have them. That’s all there is in it — ^what a suspicious 
sort of party I must be getting! And suspicious of 
whom — and of what? Anyhow, I’m glad I went out 
there — and I’ll certainly go again.” 

On his way back to Barford he thought a good deal 
of the two young people he had just left. There was 
something of the irony of fate about their situation. 
There they were, in possession of money and luxury and 
youth — and already bored because they had nothing to 
do. He felt what closely approached a contemptuous 
pity for Harper — why didn’t he turn to some occupa- 
tion? There was their own business — why didn’t he 
put in so many hours a day there, instead of leaving 
it to managers ? Why didn ’t he interest himself in local 
affairs? — work at something? Already he had all the 
appearance of a man who is inclined to slackness — and 
in that case, mused Collingwood, his money would do him 
positive harm. But he had no thoughts of that sort 
about Nesta Mallathorpe : he had seen that she was of a 
different temperament. 

“She’ll not stick there — idling,” he said. “She’ll 
break out and do something or other. What did she say ? 
‘Suffering from lack of occupation’? A bad thing to 


50 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

suffer from, too— glad I’m not similarly afflicted!” 

There was immediate occupation for Collingwood him- 
self when he reached the town. He had already made 
up his mind as to his future plans. He would sell his 
grandfather’s business as soon as he could find a buyer — 
the old man had left a provision in his will, the gist of 
which Eldrick had already communicated to Colling- 
wood, to the effect that his grandson could either carry 
on the business with the help of a competent manager un- 
til the stock was sold but, or could dispose of it as a 
going concern — Collingwood decided to sell it outright, 
and at once. But first it was necessary for him to look 
round the collection of valuable books and prints, and 
get an idea of what it was that he was about to sell. 
And when he had reached Barford again, and had 
lunched at his hotel, he went to Quagg Alley, and shut 
himself in the shop, and made a careful inspection of the 
treasures which old Bartle had raked up from many 
quarters. 

Within ten minutes of beginning his task Collingwood 
knew that he had gone out to Normandale Grange about 
a mere nothing. Picking up the History of Barford 
which Jabey Naylor had spoken of, and turning over its 
leaves, two papers dropped out ; one a half sheet of fools- 
cap, folded ; the other, a letter from some correspondent 
in the United States. Collingwood read the letter first 
— it was evidently that which Naylor had referred to as 
having been delivered the previous afternoon. It asked 
for a good, clear copy of Hopkinson’s History of Barford 
— and then it went on, ‘‘If you should come across a 
copy of what is, I believe, a very rare tract or pamphlet, 


THE FORTUNATE POSSESSORS 51 

Customs of the Court Leet of the Manor of Barford, 
published, I think, about 1720, I should be glay to pay 
you any price you like to ask for it — in reason.’^ So 
much for the letter — Collingwood turned from it to the 
folded paper. It was headed ‘‘List of Barford Tracts 
and Pamphlets in my box marked B.P. in the library 
at N Grange,” and it was initialled at the foot J.M. 
Then followed the titles of some twenty-five or thirty 
works — amongst them was the very tract for which the 
American correspondent had inquired. And now Col- 
lingwood had what he believed to be a clear vision of 
what had puzzled him — his grandfather having just read 
the American buyer’s request had found the list of these 
pamphlets inside the Bistory of Barford, and in it the 
entry of the particular one he wanted, and at once he 
had written to Mrs. Mallathorpe in the hope of persuad- 
ing her to sell what his American correspondent desired 
to buy. It was all quite plain — and the old man’s visit 
to Eldrick & Pascoe’s had nothing to do with the letter 
to Mrs. Mallathorpe. Nor had he carried the folded 
paper in his pocket to Eldrick ’s — when Jabey Naylor 
went out to post the letter. Antony had placed the 
folded paper and the American letter together in the 
book and left them there. Quite, quite simple ! — he had 
had his run to Normandale Grange and back all about 
nothing, and for nothing — except that he had met Nesta 
Mallathorpe, whom he was already sufficiently interested 
in to desire to see again. But having arrived at an ex- 
planation of what had puzzled him and made him sus- 
picious, he dismissed that matter from his mind and 
thought no more of it. 


52 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

But across the street, all unknown to Collingwood, 
Linford Pratt was thinking a good deal. Collingwood 
had taken his car from a rank immediately opposite 
Eldrick & Pascoe’s windows; Pratt, whose desk looked 
on to the street, had seen him drive away soon after ten 
o’clock and return about half-past twelve. Pratt, who 
knew everybody in the business centre of the town, knew 
the man who had driven Collingwood, and when he went 
out to his lunch he asked him where he had been that 
morning. The man, who knew no reason for secrecy, 
told him — and Pratt went off to eat his bread and cheese 
and drink his one glass of ale and to wonder why young 
Collingwood had been to Normandale Grange. He be- 
came slightly anxious and uneasy. He knew that Col- 
lingwood must have made some slight examination of old 
Bartle’s papers. Was it — could it be possible that the 
old man, before going to Eldrick ’s, had left some mem- 
orandum of his discovery in his desk — or in a diary? 
He had said that he had not shown the will, nor men- 
tioned the will, to a soul — but he might ; — old men were 
so fussy about things — he might have set down in his 
diary that he had found it on such a day, and under 
such-and-such circumstances. 

However, there was one person who could definitely 
inform him of the reason of Collingwood ’s visit to Nor- 
mandale Grange — Mrs. Mallathorpe. He would see her 
at once, and learn if he had any grounds for fear. And 
so it came about that at nine o’clock that evening, Mrs. 
Mallathorpe, for the second time that day, found herself 
asked to see a limb of the law. 


CHAPTER V 


POINT-BLANK 

Mrs. Mallathorpe was alone when Pratt’s card was 
taken to her. Harper and Nesta were playing billiards 
in a distant part of the big house. Dinner had been over 
for an hour; Mrs. Mallathorpe, who had known what 
hard work and plenty of it was, in her time, was trifling 
over the newspapers — rest, comfort, and luxury were by 
no means boring to her. She looked at the card doubt- 
fully — Pratt had pencilled a word or two on it: “Private 
and important business. ’ ’ Then she glanced at the but- 
ler — an elderly man who had been with John Mallathorpe 
many years before the catastrophe occurred. 

“Who is he, Dickenson?” she asked. “Do you know 
him ? ’ ’ 

“Clerk at Eldrick & Pascoe’s, in the town, ma’am,” 
replied the butler. “I know the young man by sight.” 

“Where is he?” inquired Mrs. Mallathorpe. 

“In the little morning room, at present, ma’am,” said 
Dickenson. 

“Take him into the study,” commanded Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe. “ I ’ll come to him presently. ’ ’ She was utterly 
at a loss to understand Pratt’s presence there. Eldrick 
& Pascoe were not her solicitors, and she had no business 

53 


54. THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

of a legal nature in which they could be in any way con- 
cerned. But it suddenly struck her that that was the 
second time she had heard Eldrick’s name mentioned that 
day — ^young Mr. Collingwood had said that his grand- 
father’s death had taken place at Eldrick & Pascoe’s of- 
fice. Had this clerk come to see her about that ? — and 
if so, what had she to do with it ? Before she reached the 
room in which Pratt was waiting for her, Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe was filled with curiosity. But in that curiosity 
there was not a trace of apprehension; nothing sug- 
gested to her that her visitor had called on any matter 
actually relating to herself or her family. 

The room into which Pratt had been taken was a small 
apartment opening out of the library — John Malla- 
thorpe, when he bought Normandale Grange, had it al- 
tered and fitted to suit his own tastes, and Pratt, as soon 
as he entered it, saw that it was a place in which privacy 
and silence could be ensured. He noticed that it had 
double doors, and that there were heavy curtains before 
the window. And during the few minutes which 
elapsed between his entrance and Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s, he 
took the precaution to look behind those curtains, and to 
survey his surroundings — what he had to say was not to 
be overheard, if he could help it. 

Mrs. Mallathorpe looked her curiosity as soon as she 
came in. She did not remember that she had ever seen 
this young man before, but she recognized at once that 
he was a shrewd and sharp person, and she knew from his 
manner that he had news of importance to give her. She 
quietly acknowledged Pratt’s somewhat elaborate bow, 
and motioned him to take a chair at the side of the big 


POINT-BLANK 55 

desk which stood before the fireplace — she herself sat 
down at the desk itself, in John Mallathorpe ’s old elbow- 
chair. And Pratt thought to himself that however much 
young Harper John Mallathorpe might be nominal mas- 
ter of Normandale Grange, the real master was there, 
in the self-evident, quiet-looking woman who turned to 
him in business-like fashion. 

‘‘You want to see me?’^ said Mrs. Mallathorpe. 
“What is it?’’ 

“Business, Mrs. Mallathorpe,” replied Pratt. “As 
I said on my card — of a private and important sort.” 

“To do with me?” she asked. 

“With you — and with your family,” said Pratt. 
“And before we go any further, not a soul knows of 
it but — me.” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe took another searching look at her 
visitor. Pratt was leaning over the corner of the desk, 
towards her; already he had lowered his tones to the 
mysterious and confidential note. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. 
“Go on.” 

Pratt bent a little nearer. 

“A question or two first, if you please, Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe. And — answer them! They’re for your own 
good. Young Mr. Collingwood called on you today.” 

“Well — and what of it?” 

“What did he want?” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe hesitated and frowned a little. And 
Pratt hastened to reassure her. “I’m using no idle 
words, Mrs. Mallathorpe, when I say it’s for your own 
good. It is! What did he come for?” 


56 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘ ‘ He came to ask what there was in a letter which his 
grandfather wrote to me yesterday afternoon.” 

‘^Antony Bartle had written to you, had he? And 
what did he say, Mrs. Mallathorpe? For that is im- 
portant ! ’ ' 

‘‘No more than that he wanted me to call on him to- 
day, if I happened to be in Barford.” 

“Nothing more?” 

“Nothing more — not a word.” 

“Nothing as to — why he wanted to see you?” 

“No! I thought that he probably wanted to see me 
about buying some books of the late Mr. Mallathorpe ’s. ’ ^ 

“Did you tell Collingwood that?”* asked Pratt, 
eagerly. 

“Yes — of course.” 

“Did it satisfy him?” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe frowned again. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” she demanded. “It was the 
only explanation I could possibly give him. How do 
I know what the old man really wanted?” 

Pratt drew his chair still nearer to the desk. His 
voice dropped to a whisper and his eyes were full of 
meaning. 

“ I ’ll tell you what he wanted 1 ” he said speaking very 
slowly. “It’s what I’ve come for. Listen! Antony 
Bartle came to our office soon after five yesterday after- 
noon. I was alone — everybody else had gone. I took 
him into Eldrick’s room. He told me that in turning 
over one of the books which he had bought from Malla- 
thorpe Mill, some short time ago, he had found— what 
do you think?” 


POINT-BT.ANK 57 

Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s cheek had flushed at the mention 
of the books from the Mill. Now, at Pratt’s question, 
and under his searching eye, she turned very pale, and 
the clerk saw her Angers tighten on the arms of her chair. 

‘^What?” she asked. “What?” 

“John Mallathorpe ’s will!” he answered. “Do you 
understand ? His — ^will 1 ’ ’ 

The woman glanced quickly about her — at the doors, 
the uncurtained window. 

“Safe enough here,” whispered Pratt. “I made sure 
of that. Don ’t be afraid — no one knows — but me. ’ ’ 

But Mrs. Mallathorpe seemed to find some difficulty in 
speaking, and when she at last got out a word her voice 
sounded hoarse. 

“Impossible 1 ” 

“It’s a fact !” said Pratt. “Nothing was ever more a 
fact as you’ll see. But let me finish my story. The old 
man told me how he’d found the will — only half an 
hour before — and he asked me to ring up Eldrick, so 
that we might all read it together. I went to the tele- 
phone — when I came back, Bartle was dead — just dead. 
And — I took the will out of his pocket. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Mallathorpe made an involuntary gesture with 
her right hand. And Pratt smiled, craftily, and shook 
his head. 

“Much too valuable to carry about, Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe,” he said. “I’ve got it — all safe — under lock 
and key. But as I’ve said — nobody knows of it but 
myself. Not a living soul. No one has any idea! No 
one can have any idea. I was a bit alarmed when I 
heard that young Collingwood had been to you, for I 


58 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

thought that the old man, though he didn’t tell me of 
any such thing, might have dropped you a line saying 
what he’d found. But as he didn’t — well, not one living 
soul knows that the will’s in existence, except me — and 
you ! ’ ’ 

Mrs. Mallathorpe was regaining her self-possession. 
She had had a great shock, but the worst of it was over. 
Already she knew, from Pratt’s manner, insidious and 
suggesting, that the will was of a nature that would dis- 
possess her and hers of this recently acquired wealth — 
the clerk had made that evident by look, and tone. So 
— there was nothing but to face things. 

“What — what does it — say?” she asked, with an effort. 

Pratt unbuttoned his overcoat, plunged a hand into 
the inner pocket, drew out a sheet of paper, unfolded 
it and laid it on the desk. 

‘ ‘ An exact copy, ’ ’ he said tersely. ^ ‘ Read it for your- 
self.” 

In spite of the determined effort which she made to 
be calm, Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s fingers still trembled as she 
took up the sheet on which Pratt had made a fair copy of 
the will. The clerk watched her narrowly as she read. 
He knew that presently there would be a tussle between 
them: he knew, too, that she was a woman who would 
fight hard in defence of her own interest, and for the 
interests of her children. 

Always keeping his ears open to local gossip, espe- 
cially where money was concerned, Pratt had long since 
heard that Mallathorpe was a keen and sharp busi- 
ne: s woman. And now he was not surprised when, hav- 
ing slowly and carefully read the copy of the will from 


POINT-BLANK 

beginning to end, she laid it down, and turned to him 
with a business-like question. 

“The effect of thatT’ she asked. “What would it 
be — curtly ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Precisely what it says, ’ ^ answered Pratt. ^ ‘ Couldn ’t 
be clearer!” 

“We — should lose all?” she demanded, almost angrily. 
“All?” 

“All — except what he says — there,” agreed Pratt. 

“And that,” she went on, drumming her fingers on 
the paper, “that — ^would stand?” 

“What it’s a copy of would stand,” said Pratt. “Oh, 
yes, don’t you make any mistake about it, Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe! Nothing can upset that will. It is plain as 
a pikestaff how it came to be made. Your late brother- 
in-law evidently wrote his will out — it’s all in his own 
handwriting — and took it down to the Mill with him the 
very day of the chimney accident. Just as evidently he 
signed it in the presence of his manager, Gaukrodger, 
and his cashier, Marshall — ^they signed at the same time, 
as it says, there. Now I take it that very soon after that, 
Mr. Mallathorpe went out into his mill yard to have a 
look at the chimney — Gaukrodger and Marshall went 
with him. Before he went, he popped the will into the 
book, where old Bartle found it yesterday — such things 
are easily done. Perhaps he was reading the book — 
perhaps it lay handy — he slipped the will inside, anyway. 
And then — he was killed — and, what’s more the two 
witnesses were killed with him. So there wasn’t a man 
left who could tell of that will ! But — there ’s half Bar- 
ford could testify to these three signatures ! Mrs. Malla- 


60 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

thorpe, there’s not a chance for you if I put that will 
into the hands of the two trustees!” 

He leaned back in his chair after that — nodding con- 
fidently, watching keenly. And now he saw that the 
trembling fingers were interlacing each other, twisting 
the rings on each other, and that Mrs. Mallathorpe was 
thinking as she had most likely never thought in her 
life. After a moment’s pause Pratt went on. ‘‘Perhaps 
you didn’t understand,” he said. “I mean, you don’t 
know the effect. Those two trustees — Charlesworth & 
Wyatt — could turn you all clean out of this — tomorrow, 
in a way of speaking. Everything’s theirs! They can 
demand an account of every penny that you’ve all had 
out of the estate and the business — from the time you 
all took hold. If anything’s been saved, put aside, they 
can demand that. You’re entitled to nothing but the 
three amounts of ten thousand each. Of course, thirty 
thousand is thirty thousand — it means, at five per cent., 
fifteen hundred a year — if you could get five per cent, 
safely. But — I should say your son and daughter are 
getting a few thousand a year each, aren’t they, Mrs. 
Mallathorpe? It would be a nice come-down! Five 
hundred a year apiece — at the outside. A small house 
instead of Normandale Grange. Genteel poverty — 
comparatively speaking — instead of riches. That is — if 
I hand over the will to Charlesworth & Wyatt.” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe slowly turned her eyes on Pratt. 
And Pratt suddenly felt a little afraid — there was anger 
in those eyes; anger of a curious sort. It might be 
against fate — against circumstance: it might not — why 
should it ? — be against him personally, but it was there. 


POINT-BLANK 61 

and it was malign and almost evil, and it made him 
uncomfortable. 

‘‘Where is the willT^ she asked. 

“Safe! In my keeping,” answered Pratt. 

She looked him all over — surmisingly. 

“You’ll sell it to me?” she suggested. “You’ll hand 
it over — and let me burn it — destroy it ? 

“ No ! ” answered Pratt. ‘ ‘ I shall not ! ’ ’ 

He saw that his answer produced personal anger at 
last. Mrs. Mallathorpe gave him a look which would 
have warned a much less observant man than Pratt. 
But he gave her back a look that was just as resolute. 

“I say no — and I mean no!” he continued. “I won’t 
sell — but I’ll bargain. Let’s be plain with each other. 
You don’t want that will to be handed over to the trus- 
tees named in it, Charlesworth & Wyatt?” 

“Do you think I’m a fool — man !” she flashed out. 

“I should be a fool myself if I did,” replied Pratt 
calmly. “And I’m not a fool. Very well — then you’ll 
square me. You’ll buy me. Come to terms with me, 
and nobody shall ever know. I repeat to you what I’ve 
said before — not a soul knows now, no nor suspects! 
It’s utterly impossible for anybody to find out. The 
testator’s dead. The attesting witnesses are dead. The 
man who found this will is dead. No one but you and 
myself ever need know a word about all this. If — you 
make terms with me, Mrs. Mallathorpe.” 

“What do you want?” she asked sullenly. “You for- 
get — I’ve nothing of my own. I didn’t come into any- 
thing.” 

“I’ve a pretty good notion who’s real master here — 


62 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

and at Mallathorpe Mill, too,” retorted Pratt. '‘I 
should say you’re still in full control of your children, 
Mrs. Mallathorpe, and that you can do pretty well what 
you like with them.” 

“With one of them perhaps,” she said, still angry and 
sullen. “But — I tell you, for you may as well know — 
if my daughter knew of what you’ve told me, she’d go 
straight to these trustees and tell! That’s a fact that 
you’d better realize. I can’t control her.” 

“Oh!” remarked Pratt. “Um! — then we must take 
care that she doesn’t know. But we don’t intend that 
anybody should know but you and me, Mrs. Mallathorpe. 
You needn’t tell a soul — not even your son. You mustn’t 
tell I Listen, now — I ’ve thought out a good scheme 
which ’ll profit me, and make you safe. Do you know 
what you want on this estate?” 

She stared at him as if wondering what this question 
had to do with the matter which was of such infinite im- 
portance. And Pratt smiled, and hastened to enlighten 
her. 

“You want — a steward, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ A steward and es- 
tate agent. John Mallathorpe managed everything for 
himself, but your son can ’t, and pardon me if I say that 
you can’t — properly. You need a man — you need me. 
You can persuade your son to that effect. Give me the 
job of steward here. I’ll suggest to you how to do it in 
such a fashion that it’ll arouse no suspicion, and look 
just like an ordinary — very ordinary — business job — 
at a salary and on conditions to be arranged, and — 
you’re safe! Safe, Mrs. Mallathorpe — you know what 
that means J ’ ’ 


POINT-BLANK 63 

Mrs. Mallathorpe suddenly rose from her chair. 

“I know this!’’ she said. “I’ll discuss nothing, and 
do nothing, till I’ve seen that will!” 

Pratt rose, too, nodding his head as if quite satisfied. 
He took up the copy, tore it in two pieces, and carefully 
dropped them into the glowing fire. 

“I shall be at my lodgings at any time after five- 
thirty tomorrow evening,” he answered quietly. “Call 
there. You have the address. And you can then read 
the will with your own eyes. I shan’t bring it here. 
The game’s in my hands, Mrs. Mallathorpe.” 

Within a few minutes he was out in the park again, 
and making his way to the little railway station in the 
valley below. He felt triumphant — he knew that the 
woman he had just left was at his mercy and would ac- 
cede to his terms. And all the way back to town, and 
through the town to his lodgings, he considered and per- 
fected the scheme he was going to suggest to Mrs. MaUa- 
thorpe on the morrow. 

Pratt lived in a little hamlet of old houses on the 
very outskirts of Barford — on the edge of a stretch of 
; country honeycombed by stone-quarries, some in use, 
some already worked out. It was a lonely neighbour- 
ihood, approached from the nearest tramway route by 
a narrow, high- walled lane. He was half-way along that 
lane when a stealthy foot stole to his side, and a hand 
was laid on his arm — just as stealthily came the voice of 
one of his fellow-clerks at Eldrick & Pascoe’s. 

! “A moment, Pratt! I’ve been waiting for you. I 
want — a word or two — in private!” 


CHAPTER YI 

THE UNEXPECTED 


Pratt started when he heard that voice and felt the 
arresting hand. He knew well enough to whom they be- 
longed — they were those of one James Parrawhite, a 
little, weedy, dissolute chap who had been in Eldrick & 
Pascoe’s employ for about a year. It had always been 
a mystery to him and the other clerks that Parrawhite 
had been there at all, and that being there he was al- 
lowed to stop. He was not a Barford man. Nobody 
knew anything whatever about him, though his occasional 
references to it seemed to indicate that he knew London 
pretty thoroughly. Pratt shrewdly suspected that he 
was a man whom Eldrick had known in other days, pos- 
sibly a solicitor who had been struck off the rolls, and 
to whom Eldrick, for old times’ sake, was disposed to 
extend a helping hand. 

All that any of them knew was that one morning 
some fifteen months previously, Parrawhite, a complete 
stranger, had walked into the office, asked to see Eldrick, 
had remained closeted with him half an hour, and had 
been given a job at two pounds a week, there and then. 
That he was a clever and useful clerk no one denied, but 
no one liked him. 


64 


THE UNEXPECTED 65 

He was always borrowing half-crowns. He smelt of 
mm. He was altogether undesirable. It was plain to 
the clerks that Pascoe disliked him. But he was evi- 
dently under Eldrick’s protection, and he did his work 
and did it well, and there was no doubt that he knew 
more law than either of the partners, and was better up 
in practice than Pratt himself. But — he was not desir- 
able . . . and Pratt never desired him less than on this 
occasion. 

“What are you after — coming on a man like that?’’ 
growled Pratt. 

“You,” replied Parrawhite. “I knew you’d got to 
come up this lane, so I waited for you. I’ve some- 
thing to say.” 

“Get it said, then!” retorted Pratt. 

“Not here,” answered Parrawhite. “Come down by 
the quarry — nobody about there.” 

“And suppose I don’t?” asked Pratt. 

“Then you’ll be very sorry for yourself — tomorrow,” 
replied Parrawhite. “That’s all!” 

Pratt had already realized that this fellow knew 
something. Parrawhite ’s manner was not only threat- 
ening but confident. He spoke as a man speaks who 
has got the whip hand. And so, still growling, and in- 
wardly raging and anxious, he turned off with his com- 
panion into a track which lay amongst the stone quar- 
ries. It was a desolate, lonely place ; no house was near ; 
they were as much alone as if they had been in the mid- 
dle of one of the great moors outside the town, the lights 
of which they could see in the valley below them. In the 
grey sky above, a waning moon gave them just sufficient 


66 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

light to see their immediate surroundings— a grass-cov- 
ered track, no longer used, and the yawning mouths of 
the old quarries, no longer worked, the edges of which 
were thick with gorse and bramble. It was the very 
place for secret work, and Pratt was certain that secret 
work was at hand. 

‘‘Now then!” he said, when they had walked well into 
the wilderness. ‘ ‘ What is it ? And no nonsense ! ’ ’ 

“You’ll get no nonsense from me,” sneered Parra- 
white. “I’m not that sort. This is what I want to say. 
I was in Eldrick’s office last night all the time you were 
there with old Bartle.” 

This swift answer went straight through Pratt’s de- 
fences. He was prepared to hear something unpleasant 
and disconcerting, but not that. And he voiced the first 
thought that occurred to him. 

“That’s a lie!” he exclaimed. “There was nobody 
there ! ’ ’ 

“No lie,” replied Parrawhite. “I was there. I was 
behind the curtain of that recess — you know. And since 
I know what you did, I don ’t mind telling you — we ’re in 
the same boat, my lad! — what I was going to do. You 
thought I’d gone — with the others. But I hadn’t. I’d 
merely done what I’ve done several times without being 
found out — slipped in there — to wait until you’d gone. 
Why? Because friend Eldrick, as you know, is culpably 
careless about leaving loose cash in the unlocked drawer 
of his desk, culpably careless, too, about never counting 
it. And — a stray sovereign or half-sovereign is use- 
ful to a man who only gets two quid a week. Under- 
stand?” 


67 


THE UNEXPECTED 

*'So you’re a thief?” said Pratt bitterly. 

‘‘I’m precisely what you are — a thief!” retorted Par- 
rawhite. “You stole John Mallathorpe ’s will last night. 
I heard everything. I tell you! — and saw everything. 
I heard the whole business — what the old man said — 
what you, later, said to Eldrick. I saw old Bartle die — 
I saw you take the will from his pocket, read it, and put 
it in your pocket. I know all ! — except the terms of the 
will. But — I’ve a pretty good idea of what those terms 
are. Do you know why? Because I watched you set 
off to Normandale by the eight-twenty train tonight!” 

“Hang you for a dirty sneak!” growled Pratt. 

Parrawhite laughed, and flourished a heavy stick which 
he carried. 

“Not a bit of it!” he said, almost pleasantly. “I 
thought you were more of a philosopher — I fancied I’d 
seen gleams — mere gleams — of philosophy in you at 
times. Fortunes of war, my boy! Come now — ^you’ve 
seen enough of me to know I’m an adventurer. This is 
an adventure of the sort I love. Go into it heart and 
soul, man ! Own up ! — you ’ve found out that the will 
leaves the property away from the present holders, and 
you ’ve been to Normandale to — bargain ? Come, now ! ’ ’ 

“What then!” demanded Pratt. 

“Then, of course, I come in at the bargaining,” an- 
swered Parrawhite. “I’m going to have my share. 
That’s a certainty. You’d better take my advice. Be- 
cause you’re absolutely in my power. I’ve nothing to 
do but to tell Eldrick tomorrow morning. ’ ’ 

“Suppose I tell Eldrick tomorrow morning of what 
you’ve told me?” interjected Pratt. 


68 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘‘Eldrick will believe me before you,’^ retorted Par- 
ra white, imperturbably. '‘I’m a much cleverer, more 
plausible man than you are, my friend — I’ve had an ex- 
perience of the world which you haven ’t. I can easily in- 
vent a fine excuse for being in that room. For two pins 
I’ll incriminate you! See? Be reasonable — for if it 
comes to a contest of brains, you haven’t a rabbit’s 
chance against a fox. Tell me all about the will — and 
what you’ve done. You’ve got to — for, by the Lord 
Harry! — I’m going to have my share. Come, now!” 

Pratt stood, in a little hollow wherein they had paused, 
and thought, rapidly and angrily. There was no doubt 
about it — he was trapped. This fearful scoundrel at 
his side, who boasted of his cleverness, would stick to him 
like a leach — ^he would have to share. All his own 
smart schemes for exploiting Mrs. Mallathorpe, for en- 
suring himself a competence for life, were knocked on 
the head. There was no helping it — he would have to 
tell — and to share. And so, sullenly, resentfully, he told. 

Parrawhite listened in silence, taking in every point. 
Pratt, knowing that concealment was useless, told the 
truth about everything, concisely, but omitting nothing. 

‘ ‘ All right ! ’ ’ remarked Parrawhite at the end, ‘ ‘ Now, 
then, what terms do you mean to insist on ? ” 

“What’s the good of going into that?” growled Pratt. 
“Now that you’ve stuck your foot in it, what do my 
terms matter?” 

“Quite right,” agreed Parrawhite. “They don’t. 
What matter is — our terms. Now let me suggest — no, 
insist on — what they must be. Cash! Do you know 
why I insist on that? No? Then I’ll tell you. Be- 


THE UNEXPECTED 69 

cause this young barrister chap, Collingwood, has evi- 
dently got some suspicion of — something/^ 

“I can’t see it,” said Pratt uneasily. “He was only 
curious to know what that letter was about.” 

‘ ‘Never mind, ’ ’ continued Parrawhite. ‘ ‘ He had some 
suspicion — or he wouldn’t have gone out there almost 
as soon as he reached Barford after his grandfather’s 
death. And even if suspicion is put to sleep for awhile, 
it can easily be reawakened, so — cash ! We must profit 
at once — before any future risk arises. But — what terms 
were you thinking of?” 

“Stewardship of this estate for life,” muttered Pratt 
gloomily. 

“With the risk of some discovery being made, some 
time, any time ! ’ ’ sneered Parrawhite. “Where are your 
brains, man? The old fellow, John Mallathorpe, prob- 
ably made a draft or two of that will before he did his 
fair copy — he may have left those drafts among his pa- 
pers. ’ ’ 

“ If he did, Mrs. Mallathorpe ’ud find ’em, ’ ’ said Pratt 
slowly. “I don’t believe there’s the slightest risk. I’ve 
figured everything out. I don’t believe there’s any 
danger from Collingwood or from anybody — it’s im- 
possible! And if we take cash now — ^we’re selling for 
a penny what we ought to get pounds for. ’ ’ 

“The present is much more important than the future, 
my friend,” answered Parrawhite. “To me, at any 
rate. Now, then, this is my proposal. I’ll be with you 
when this lady calls at your place tomorrow evening. 
We’ll offer her the will, to do what she likes with, for ten 
thousand pounds. She can find that — quickly. When 


70 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

she pays — as she will! — we share, equally, and then — 
well, you can go to the devil! I shall go— somewhere 
else. So that’s settled.” 

“No !” said Pratt. 

Parrawhite turned sharply, and Pratt saw a sinister 
gleam in his eyes. 

“Did you say no?” he asked. 

‘ ‘ I said— no ! ’ ’ replied Pratt. “I’m not going to take 
five thousand pounds- for a chance that’s worth fifty 
thousand. Hang you! — if you hadn’t been a black 
sneak-thief, as you are, I’d have had the whole thing to 
myself! And I don’t know that I will give way to you. 
If it comes to it, my word’s as good as yours — and I 
don’t believe Eldrick would believe you before me. Pas- 
coe wouldn’t anyway. You’ve got a past! — in quod, I 
should think — my past’s all right. I’ve a jolly good 
mind to let you do your worst — after all, I’ve got the 
will. And by george ! now I come to think of it, you can 
do your worst ! Tell what you like tomorrow morning. 
I shall tell ’em what you are — a scoundrel.” 

He turned away at that — and as he turned, Parra- 
white, with a queer cry of rage that might have come 
from some animal which saw its prey escaping, struck 
out at him with the heavy stick. The blow missed Pratt ’s 
head, but it grazed the tip of his ear, and fell slantingly 
on his left shoulder. And then the anger that had been 
boiling in Pratt ever since the touch on his arm in the 
dark lane, burst out in activity, and he turned on his as- 
sailant, gripped him by the throat before Parrawhite 
could move, and after choking and shaking him until 
his teeth rattled and his breath came in jerking sobs, 


THE UNEXPECTED 71 

flung him violently against the masses of stone by which 
they had been standing. 

Pratt was of considerable physical strength. He 
played cricket and football; he visited a gymnasium 
thrice a week. His hands had the grip of a blacksmith ; 
his muscles were those of a prize-fighter. He had put 
more strength than he was aware of into his fierce grip 
on Parrawhite^s throat; he had exerted far more force 
than he knew he was exerting, when he flung him away. 
He heard a queer cracking sound as the man struck some- 
thing, and for the moment he took no notice of it — the 
pain of that glancing blow on his shoulder was growing 
acute, and he began to rub it with his free hand and to 
curse its giver. 

“Get up, you fool, and 111 give you some more!’^ he 
growled. “Ill teach you to ’’ 

He suddenly noticed the curiously still fashion in 
which Parrawhite was lying where he had flung him — 
noticed, too, as a cloud passed the moon and left it un- 
veiled, how strangely white the man’s face was. And 
just as suddenly Pratt forgot his own injury, and 
dropped on his knees beside his assailant. An instant 
later, and he knew that he was once more confronting 
death. For Parrawhite was as dead as Antony Bartle — 
violent contact of his head with a rock had finished what 
Pratt had nearly completed with that vicious grip. 
There was no questioning it, no denying it — Pratt was 
there in that lonely place, staring half consciously, half 
in terror, at a dead man. 

He stood up at last, cursing Parrawhite with the anger 
of despair. He Lad not one scrap of pity for him. All 


72 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

his pity was for himself. That he should have been 
brought into this! — that this vile little beast, perfect 
scum that he was, should have led him to what might 
be the utter ruin of his career 1 — it was shameful, it was 
abominable, it was cruel ! He felt as if he could cheer- 
fully tear Parrawhite’s dead body to pieces. But even 
as these thoughts came, others of a more important na- 
ture crowded on them. For — ^there lay a dead man, who 
was not to be put in one’s pocket, like a will. It was 
necessary to hide that thing from the light — ever that 
light. Within a few hours, morning would break, and 
lonely and deserted as that place was nowadays, some 
one might pass that way. Out of sight with him, then ! 
— and quickly. 

Pratt was very well acquainted with the spot at which 
he stood. Those old quarries had a certain picturesque- 
ness. They had become grass-grown; ivy, shrubs, trees 
had clustered about them — the people who lived in the 
few houses half a mile away, sometimes walked around 
them; the children made a playground of the place: 
Pratt himself had often gone into some quiet corner to 
read and smoke. And now his quick mind immediately 
suggested a safe hiding place for this thing that he could 
not carry away with him, and dare not leave to the morn- 
ing sun — close by was a pit, formerly used for some quar- 
rying purpose, which was filled, always filled, with water. 
It was evidently of considerable depth; the water was 
black in it ; the mouth was partly obscured by a maze of 
shrub and bramble. It had been like that ever since 
Pratt came to lodge in that part of the district — ten or 
twelve years before ; it would probably remain like that 


THE UNEXPECTED 73 

for many a long year to come. That bit of land was ab 
solutely useless and therefore neglected, and as long as 
rain fell and water drained, that pit would always be 
filled to its brim. 

He remembered something else: also close by where 
he stood — a heap of old iron things — broken and disused 
picks, smashed rails, fragments thrown aside when the 
last of the limestone had been torn out of the quarries. 
Once more luck was playing into his hands — those odds 
and ends might have been put there for the very pur- 
pose to which he now meant to turn them. And being 
certain that he was alone, and secure, Pratt proceeded 
to go about his unpleasant task skilfully and methodi- 
cally. He fetched a quantity of the iron, fastened it to 
the dead man’s clothing, drew the body, thus weighted, 
to the edge of the pit, and prepared to slide it into the 
black water. But there an idea struck him. While he 
made these preparations he had had hosts of ideas as to 
his operations next morning — this idea was supplemen- 
tary to them. Quickly and methodically he removed 
the contents of Parrawhite’s pockets to his own — every- 
thing: money, watch and chain, even a ring which the 
dead man had been evidently vain of. Then he let Par- 
rawhite glide into the water — and after him he sent the 
heavy stick, carefully fastened to a bar of iron. 

Five minutes later, the surface of the water in that pit 
was as calm and unruffled as ever — not a ripple showed 
that it had been disturbed. And Pratt made his way out 
of the wilderness, swearing that he would never enter it 
again. 


CHAPTER VII 
THE SUPREME INDUCEMENT 

Pratt was in Eldrick & Pascoe’s office soon after half- 
past eight next morning, and for nearly forty minutes he 
had the place entirely to himself. But it took only a few 
of those minutes for him to do what he had carefully 
planned before he went to bed the previous night. Shut- 
ting himself into Eldrick ’s private room, and making 
sure that he was alone that time, he immediately opened 
the drawer in the senior partner’s desk, wherein Eldrick, 
culpably enough, as Parrawhite had sneeringly remarked, 
was accustomed to put loose money. Eldrick was 
strangely careless in that way: he would throw money 
into that drawer in presence of his clerks — notes, gold, 
silver. If it happened to occur to him, he would take the 
money out at the end of the afternoon and hand it to 
Pratt to lock up in the safe ; but as often as not, it did not 
occur. Pratt had more than once ventured on a hint 
which was almost a remonstrance, and Eldrick had paid 
no attention to him. He was a careless, easy-going man 
in many respects, Eldrick, and liked to do things in his 
own way. And after all, as Pratt had decided, when he 
found that his hints were not listened to, it was Eldrick ’s 
own affair if he liked to leave the money lying about. 

There was money lying about in that drawer when 
74 


THE SUPREME INDUCEMENT 75 

Pratt drew it open; it was never locked, day or night, 
or, if it was, the key was left in it. As soon as he opened 
it, he saw gold — two or three sovereigns — and silver — a 
little pile of it. And, under a letter weight, four bank- 
notes of ten pounds each. But this was precisely what 
Pratt had expected to see ; he himself had handed bank- 
notes, gold, and silver to Eldrick the previous evening, 
just after receiving them from a client who had called 
to pay his bill. And he had seen Eldrick place them 
in the drawer, as usual, and soon afterwards Eldrick had 
walked out, saying he was going to the club, and he had 
never returned. 

What Pratt now did was done as the result of careful 
thought and deliberation. There was a cheque-book 
lying on top of some papers in the drawer; he took it 
up and tore three cheques out of it. Then he picked 
up the bank-notes, tore them and the abstracted blank 
cheques into pieces, and dropped the pieces in the fire 
recently lighted by the caretaker. He watched these 
fragments burn, and then he put the gold and silver in 
his hip-pocket, where he already carried a good deal of 
his own, and walked out. 

Nine o ’clock brought the office-boy ; a quarter-past nine 
brought the clerks; at ten o’clock Eldrick walked in. 
According to custom, Pratt went into Eldrick ’s room 
with the letters, and went through them with him. One 
of them contained a legal document over which the so- 
licitor frowned a little. 

“Ask Parra white’s opinion about that,” he said pres- 
ently, indicating a marked paragraph. 

“Parra white has not come in this morning, sir,” ob- 


76 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

served Pratt, gathering up letters and papers. 
draw his attention to it when he arrives.’’ 

He went into the outer office, only to be summoned 
back to Eldrick a few minutes later. The senior partner 
was standing by his desk, looking a little concerned, and, 
thought Pratt, decidedly uncomfortable. He motioned 
the clerk to close the door. 

^‘Has Parrawhite come?” he asked. 

“No,” replied Pratt. “Not yet, Mr. Eldrick.” 

“Is — is he usually late?” inquired Eldrick. 

‘ ‘ Usually quite punctual — half-past nine, ’ ’ said Pratt. 

Eldrick glanced at his watch; then at his clerk. 

‘ ‘ Didn ’t you give me some cash last night ? ” he asked. 

“Forty-three pounds nine,” answered Pratt. 
“Thompson’s bill of costs — he paid it yesterday after- 
noon. ’ ’ 

Eldrick looked more uncomfortable than ever. 

“Well — the fact is,” he said, “I — I meant to hand 
it to you to put in the safe, Pratt, but I didn ’t come back 
from the club. And — it’s gone!” 

Pratt simulated concern — but not astonishment. And 
Eldrick pulled open the drawer, and waved a hand over 
it. 

“I put it down there,” he said. “Very careless of 
me, no doubt — but nothing of this sort has ever hap- 
pened before, and — however, there ’s the unpleasant fact, 
Pratt. The money’s gone!” 

Pratt, who had hastily turned over the papers and 
other contents of the drawer, shook his head and used his 
privilege as an old and confidential servant. “I’ve al- 
ways said, sir, that it was a great mistake to leave loose 


THE SUPREME INDUCEMENT T7 

money lying about/’ he remarked mournfully. “If 
there ’d only been a practice of letting me lock anything 
of that sort up in the safe every night — and this cheque- 
book, too, sir — then ” 

“I know — I know!” said Eldrick. “Very reprehen- 
sible on my part — I ’m afraid I am careless — no doubt of 
it. But ” 

He in his turn was interrupted by Pratt, who was turn- 
ing over the cheque-book. 

“Some cheque forms have been taken out of this,” he 
said. “Three! at the end. Look there, sir!” 

Eldrick uttered an exclamation of intense annoyance 
and disgust. He looked at the despoiled cheque-book, 
and flung it into the drawer. 

‘ ‘ Pratt ! ” he said, turning half appealingly, half con- 
fidentially to the clerk. “Don’t say a word of this — 
above all, don’t mention it to Mr. Pascoe. It’s my fault 
and I must make the forty-three pounds good. Pratt, 
I’m afraid this is Parrawhite’s work. I — well, I may 
as well tell you — he’d been in trouble before he came 
here. I gave him another chance — I ’d known him, years 
ago. I thought he ’d go straight. But — I fear he ’s been 
tempted. He may have seen me leave money about. 
Was he in here last night?” 

Pratt pointed to a document which lay on Eldrick ’s 
desk. 

“He came in here to leave that for your perusal,” he 
answered. “He was in here — alone — a minute or two 
before he left.” 

All these lies came readily and naturally — and Eld- 
yick swallowed each. He shook his head. 


78 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

“My fault— all my fault!” he said. “Look here!— 
keep it quiet. But — do you know where Parrawhite has 
lived — lodged ? ’ ’ 

“No!” replied Pratt. “Some of the others may, 
though ! ” 

“Try to find out — quickly,” continued Eldrick. 
“Then, make some excuse to go out — take papers some- 
where, or something — and find if he’s left his lodgings. 
I — I don’t want to set the police on him. He was a de- 
cent fellow, once. See what you can make out, Pratt. 
In strict secrecy, you know — I do not want this to go 
further.” 

Pratt could have danced for joy when he presently 
went out into the town. There would be no hue-and-cry 
after Parrawhite — none ! Eldrick would accept the fact 
that Parrawhite had robbed him and flown — and Par- 
rawhite would never be heard of — never mentioned again. 
It was the height of good luck for him. Already he had 
got rid of any small scraps of regret or remorse about 
the killing of his fellow-clerk. Why should he be sorry ? 
The scoundrel had tried to murder him, thinking no 
doubt that he had the will on him. And he had not 
meant to kill him — what he had done, he had done in 
self-defence. No — everything was working most admir- 
ably — Parrawhite’s previous bad record, Eldrick ’s care- 
lessness and his desire to shut things up : it was all good. 
From that day forward, Parrawhite would be as if he 
had never been. Pratt was not even afraid of the body 
being discovered — though he believed that it would re- 
main where it was for ever — ^for the probability was that 


THE SUPREME INDUCEMENT 79 

the authorities would fill up that pit with earth and 
stones. But if it was brought to light? Why, the ex- 
planation was simple. 

Parrawhite, having robbed his employer, had been 
robbed himself, possibly by men with whom he had been 
drinking, and had been murdered in the bargain. No 
suspicion could attach to him, Pratt — he had nothing to 
fear — nothing ! 

For the form of the thing, he called at the place 
whereat Parrawhite had lodged — they had seen nothing 
of him since the previous morning. They were poor, 
cheap lodgings in a mean street. The woman of the 
house said that Parrawhite had gone out as usual the 
morning before, and had never been in again. In order 
to find out all he could, Pratt asked if he had left much 
behind him in the way of belongings, and — just as he 
had expected — he learned that Parrawhite ’s personal 
property was remarkably limited : he possessed only one 
suit of clothes and not over much besides, said the land- 
lady. 

^Ts there aught wrong?’’ she asked, when Pratt had 
finished his questions. ‘‘Are you from where he 
worked ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That ’s it, ’ ’ answered Pratt. ‘ ‘ And he hasn ’t turned 
up this morning, and we think he ’s left the town. Owe 
you anything, missis ? ’ ’ 

“Nay, nothing much,” she replied. “Ten shillings 
’ud cover it, mister. ’ ’ 

Pratt gave her half a sovereign. It was not out of 
consideration for her, nor as a concession to Parrawhite ’s 


80 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

memory : it was simply to stop her from coming down to 

Eldrick & Pascoe’s. 

“Well, I don’t think you’ll see him again,” he re- 
marked. ^ ‘ And I dare say you won ’t care if you don ’t. ’ ’ 

He turned away then, but before he had gone far, the 
woman called him back. 

“What am I to do with his bits of things, mister, if 
he doesn’t come back?” she asked. 

“Aught you please,” answered Pratt, indifferently. 
“Throw ’em on the dust-heap.” 

As he went back to the centre of the town, he occupied 
himself in considering his attitude to Mrs. Mallathorpe 
when she called on him that evening. In spite of his 
own previous notion, and of his carefully-worked-out 
scheme about the stewardship, he had been impressed by 
what Parrawhite has said as to the wisdom of selling the 
will for cash. Pratt did not believe that there was any- 
thing in the Collingwood suggestion — no doubt whatever, 
he had decided, that old Bartle had meant to tell Mrs. 
Mallathorpe of his discovery when she called in answer 
to his note, but as he had died before she could call, and 
as he had told nobody but him, Pratt, what possible dan- 
ger could there be from Collingwood? And a steward- 
ship for life appealed to him. He knew, from observa- 
tion of the world, what a fine thing it is to have a cer- 
tainty. 

Once he became steward and agent of the Normandale 
Grange estate, he would stick there, until he had saved a 
tidy heap of money. Then he would retire — with a pen- 
sion and a handsome present — and enjoy himself. To be 
provided for, for life! — what more could a wise man 


THE SUPREME INDUCEMENT 81 

want ? And yet — there was something in what that devil 
Parrawhite had urged. 

For there was a risk — however small — of discovery, 
and if discovery were made, there would be a nice pen- 
alty to pay. It might, after all, be better to sell the will 
outright — for as much ready money as ever he could get, 
and to take his gains far away, and start out on a career 
elsewhere. After all, there was much to be said for the 
old proverb. The only question was — was the bird in 
hand worth the two ; or the money, which he believed he 
would net in the bush? 

Pratt’s doubts on this point were settled in a curious 
fashion. He had reached the centre of the town in his 
return to Eldrick’s, and there, in the fashionable shop- 
ping street, he ran up against an acquaintance. He and 
the acquaintance stopped and chatted — about nothing. 
And as they lounged on the curb, a smart victoria drew 
up close by, and out of it, alone, stepped a girl who im- 
mediately attracted Pratt ’s eyes. He watched her across 
the pavement; he watched her into the shop. And his 
companion laughed. 

^‘That’s the sort!” he remarked flippantly. ‘‘If you 
and I had one each, old man — what ? ’ ’ 

“Who is she?” demanded Pratt. 

The acquaintance stared at him in surprise. 

“What!” he exclaimed. “You don’t know. That’s 
Miss Mallathorpe. ” 

“I didn’t know,” said Pratt. “Fact!” 

He waited until Nesta Mallathorpe came out and drove 
away — so that he could get another and a closer look at 
her. And when she was gone, he went slowly back to 


82 


THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 


the office, his mind made up. Risk or no risk, he would 
carry out his original notion. Whatever Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe might offer, he would stick to his idea of close 
and intimate connection with Normandale Grange. 


CHAPTER VIII 
TERMS 

Mrs. Mallathorpe, left to face the situation which Pratt 
had revealed to her in such sudden and startling fashion, 
had been quick to realize its seriousness. It had not 
taken much to convince her that the clerk knew what he 
was talking about. She had no doubt whatever that he 
was right when he said that the production of John Mal- 
lathorpe ’s will would mean dispossession to her children, 
and through them to herself. Nor had she any doubt, 
either, of Pratt’s intention to profit by his discovery. 
She saw that he was a young man of determination, not 
at all scrupulous, eager to seize on anything likely to 
turn to his own advantage. She was, in short, at his; 
mercy. And she had no one to turn to. Her son was 
weak, purposeless, almost devoid of character; he cared 
for nothing beyond ease and comfort, and left everything 
to her so long as he was allowed to do what he liked. 
She dared not confide in him — he was not fit to be en- 
trusted with such a secret, nor endowed with the courage 
to carry it boldly and unfiinchingly. Nor dare she con- 
fide it to her daughter — Nesta was as strong as her 
brother was weak: Mrs. Mallathorpe had only told the 
plain truth when she said to Pratt that if her daughter 
^ knew of the will she would go straight to the two tru,s- 

83 


84 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

tees. No — she would have to do everything herself. 
And she could do nothing save under Pratt’s dictation. 
So long as he had that will in his possession, he could 
make her agree to whatever terms he liked to insist upon. 

She spent a sleepless night, resolving all sorts of plans ; 
she resolved more plans and schemes during the day 
which followed. But they all ended at the same point — 
Pratt. All the future depended upon — Pratt. And by 
the end of the day it had come to this — she must make a 
determined effort to buy Pratt clean out, so that she could 
get the will into her own possesion and destroy it. She 
knew that she could easily find the necessary money — 
Harper Mallathorpe had such a natural dislike of all 
business matters and was so little fitted to attend to them 
that he was only too well content to leave everything re- 
lating to the estate and the mill at Barford to his mother. 
Up to that time Mrs. Mallathorpe had managed the af- 
fairs of both, and she had large sums at her disposal, 
out of which she could pay Pratt without even Harper 
being aware that she was paying him anything. And 
surely no young man in Pratt’s position — a mere clerk, 
earning a few pounds a week — would refuse a big sum 
of ready money! It seemed incredible to her — and she 
went into Barford towards evening hoping that by the 
time she returned the will would have been burned to 
grey ashes. 

Mrs. Mallathorpe used some ingenuity in making her 
visit to Pratt. Giving out that she was going to see a 
friend in Barford, of whose illness she had just heard, 
she drove into the town, and on arriving near the Town 
Hall dismissed her carriage, with orders to the coachman 


TERMS 85 

to put up his horses at a certain livery stable, and to 
meet her at the same place at a specified time. Then 
she went away on foot, and drew a thick veil over her 
face before hiring a cab in which she drove up to the 
outskirt on which Pratt had his lodging. She was still 
veiled when Pratt’s landlady showed her into the clerk’s 
sitting-room. 

“Is it safe here?” she asked at once. “Is there no 
fear of anybody hearing what we may say?” 

“None!” answered Pratt reassuringly. “I know 
these folks — I’ve lived here several years. And nobody 
could hear however much they put their ears to the key- 
hole. Good thick old walls, these, Mrs. Mallathorpe, and 
a solid door. We’re as safe here as we were in your 
study last night. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Mallathorpe sat down in the chair which Pratt 
politely drew near his fire. She raised her veil and 
looked at him, and the clerk saw at once how curious and 
eager she was. 

“That — ^will!” she said, in a low voice. “Let me see 
it — first. ’ ’ 

“One moment,” answered Pratt. “First — you un- 
derstand that I’m not going to let you handle it. I’ll 
hold it before you, so you can read it. Second — you 
give me your promise — I’m trusting you — that you’ll 
make no attempt to seize it. It’s not going out of my 
hands. ’ ’ 

“I’m only a woman— -and you’re a strong man,” she 
retorted sullenly. 

“Quite so,” said Pratt. “But women have a trick 
of snatching at things. And — if you please — you’ll do 


B6 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

exactly what I tell you to do. Put your hands behind 
you ! If I see you make the least movement with them — 
back goes the will into my pocket ! ’ ’ 

If Pratt had looked more closely at her just then, he 
would have taken warning from the sudden flash of 
hatred and resentment which swept across Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe’s face — it would have told him that he was deal- 
ing with a dangerous woman who would use her wits to 
circumvent and beat him — if not now, then later. But 
he was moving the gas bracket over the mantelpiece, and 
he did not see. 

‘‘Very well — ^but I had no intention of touching it,’’ 
said Mrs. Mallathorpe. “All I want is to see it — and 
read it. ’ ’ 

She obediently followed out Pratt’s instructions, and 
standing in front of her he produced the will, unfolded 
it, and held it at a convenient distance before her eyes. 
He watched her closely, as she read it, and he saw her 
grow very pale. 

“Take your time — read it over two or three times,” 
he said quietly. ‘ ‘ Get it well into your mind, Mrs. Mal- 
lathorpe. ’ ’ 

She nodded her head at last, and Pratt stepped back, 
folded up the will, and turning to a heavy box which 
lay open on the table, placed it within, under lock and 
key. And that done, he turned back and took a chair, 
close to his visitor. 

‘ ‘ Safe there, Mrs. Mallathorpe, ’ ’ he said with a glance 
that was both reassuring and cunning. “But only for 
the night. I keep a few securities of my own at one of 


TERMS 87 

the banks in the town — never mind which — and that will 
shall be deposited with them tomorrow morning.’^ 

Mrs. Mallathorpe shook her head. 

“No!’’ she said. “Because — ^you’ll come to terms 
with me.” 

Pratt shook his head, too, and he laughed. 

“Of course I shall come to terms with you,” he an- 
swered. “But they’ll be my terms — and they don’t in- 
clude any giving up of that document. That ’s flat, Mrs. 
Mallathorpe ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Not if I make it worth your while ? ’ ’ she asked. ^ ‘ Lis- 
ten I — you don ’t know what ready money I can command. 
Ready money, I tell you — cash down, on the spot!” 

“I’ve a pretty good notion,” responded Pratt. “It’s 
generally understood in the town that your son’s a mere 
figure-head, and that you’re the real boss of the whole 
show. I know that you ’re at the mill four times a week, 
and that the managers are under your thumb. I know 
that you manage everything connected with the estate. 
So, of course, I know you ’ve lots of ready money at your 
disposal.” 

“And I know that you don’t earn more than four or 
five pounds a week, at the outside,” said Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe quietly. “Come, now — just think what a nice, 
convenient thing it would be to a young man of your age 
to have — a capital. Capital! It would be the making 
of you. You could go right away — to London, say, and 
start out on whatever you liked. Be sensible — sell me 
that paper — and be done with the whole thing.” 

“No!” replied Pratt. 


88 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Mrs. Mallathorpe looked at him for a full moment. 
She was a shrewd judge of character, and she felt that 
Pratt was one of those men who are hard to stir from a 
position once adopted. But she had to make her effort — 
and she made it in what she thought the most effective 
way. 

‘T’ll give you five thousand pounds — cash — for it,” 
she said. “Meet me with it tomorrow — anywhere you 
like in the town — any time you like — and I’ll hand you 
the money — in notes.” 

“No!” said Pratt. “No!” 

Once more she looked at him. And Pratt looked back 
— and smiled. 

“When I say no, I mean no,” he went on. “And I 
never meant ‘No’ more firmly than I do now.” 

“I don’t believe you,” she answered, affecting a doubt 
which she certainly did not feel. “You’re only holding 
out for more money.” 

“If I were holding out for more money, Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe,” replied Pratt, “if I meant to sell you that will 
for cash payment, I should have stated my terms to you 
last night. I should have said precisely how much I 
wanted — and I shouldn ’t have budged from the amount. 
Mrs. Mallathorpe! — it’s no good. I’ve got my own 
schemes, and my own ideas — and I ’m going to carry ’em 
out. I want you to appoint me steward to your prop- 
erty, your affairs, for life. ” 

‘ ‘ Life ! ’ ’ she exclaimed. ‘ ‘ Life ! ’ ’ 

“My life,” answered Pratt. “And let me tell you — 
you’ll find me a first-class man — a good, faithful, hon- 
est servant. I’ll do well by you and yours. You’ll 


TERMS 


89 

never regret it as long as you live. It’ll be the best day ’s 
work you ’ve ever done. I ’ll look after your son ’s inter- 
ests — everybody’s interests — as if they were my own. 
As indeed,” he added, with a sly glance, “they will be.” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe realized the finality, the resolve, in 
all this — but she made one more attempt. 

“Ten thousand!” she said. “Come, now! — think 
what ten thousand pounds in cash would mean to 
you ! ’ ’ 

“No — nor twenty thousand,” replied Pratt. “I’ve 
made up my mind. I ’ll have my own terms. It ’s no use 
— not one bit of use — haggling or discussing matters fur- 
ther. I’m in possession of the will — and therefore of 
the situation, Mrs. Mallathorpe, you’ve just got to do 
what I tell you ! ’ ’ 

He got up from his chair, and going over to a side- 
table took from it a blotting-pad, some writing paper and 
a pencil. For the moment his back was turned — and 
again he did not see the look of almost murderous hatred 
which came into his visitor’s eyes; had he seen and un- 
derstood it, he might even then have reconsidered mat- 
ters and taken Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s last offer. But the 
look had gone when he turned again, and he noticed 
nothing as he handed over the writing materials. 

“What are these for?” she asked. 

“You’ll see in a moment,” replied Pratt, reseating 
himself, and drawing his chair a little nearer her own. 
“Now listen — because it’s no good arguing any more. 
You’re going to give me that stewardship and agency. 
You ’ll simply tell your son that it ’s absolutely necessary 
to have a steward. He’ll agree. If he doesn’t, no mat- 


. 90 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

ter— you’ll convince him. Now, then, we must do it in 
a fashion that won’t excite any suspicion. Thus — in 
a few days — say next week — you’ll insert in the Barford 
papers — all three of them — the advertisement I’m going 
to dictate to you. We’ll put it in the usual, formal 
phraseology. Write this down, if you please, Mrs. Mal- 
lathorpe. ’ ’ 

He dictated an advertisement, setting forth the re- 
quirements of which he had spoken, and Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe obeyed him and wrote. She hated Pratt more 
than ever at that moment — there was a quiet, steadfast 
implacability about him that made her feel helpless. 
But she restrained all sign of it, and when she had done 
his bidding she looked at him as calmly as he looked at 
her. 

“I am to insert this in the Barford papers next week,” 
she said. ‘ ‘ And — ^what then ? ’ ’ 

“Then you’ll get a lot of applications for the job,” 
chuckled Pratt. “ There ’ll be mine amongst them. You 
can throw most of ’em in the fire. Keep a few for form’s 
sake. Profess to discuss them with Mr. Harper — ^but 
let the discussion be all on your side. I’ll send two or 
three good testimonials — you’ll incline to me from the 
first. You’ll send for me. Your interview with me 
will be highly satisfactory. And you’ll give me the ap- 
pointment. ’ ’ 

“And — your terms?” asked Mrs. Mallathorpe. Now 
that her own scheme had failed, she seemed quite plac- 
able to all Pratt’s proposals — a sure sign of danger to 
him if he had only known it. “Better let me know 
them now — and have done with it.” 


TERMS 91 

‘ ‘ Quite so, ^ * agreed Pratt. ‘ ‘ But first of all — can you 
keep this secret to yourself and me? The money part, 
anyway?’^ 

“I can — and shall,’’ she answered. 

^ ‘ Good ! ’ ’ said Pratt. ‘ ‘ V ery well. I want a thousand 
a year. Also I want two rooms — and a business room — 
at the Grange. I shall not interfere with you or your 
family, or your domestic arrangements, but I shall ex- 
pect to have all my meals served to me from your kitchen, 
and to have one of your servants at my disposal. I know 
the Grange — I’ve been over it more than once. There’s 
much more room there than you can make use of. Give 
me the rooms I want in one of the wings. I shan’t dis- 
turb any of you. You’ll never see me except on business 
— and if you want to. ” 

Again the calm acquiescence which would have sur- 
prised some men. Why Pratt failed to be surprised by 
it was because he was just then feeling exceedingly tri- 
umphant — he believed that Mrs. Mallathorpe was, met- 
aphorically, at his feet. He had more than a little van- 
ity in him, and it pleased him greatly, that dictating of 
terms: he saw himself a conqueror, with his foot on the 
neck of his victim. 

‘Ms that all, then?” asked the visitor. 

‘ ‘ All ! ’ ’ answered Pratt. 

Mrs. Mallathorpe calmly folded up the draft adver- 
tisement and placed it in her purse. Then she rose and 
adjusted her veil. 

'‘Then— there is nothing to be done until I get your 
answer to this— your application?” she asked. “Very 
well.” 


92 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Pratt showed her out, and walked to the cab with her. 
He went back to his rooms highly satisfied — and utterly 
ignorant of what Mrs. Mallathorpe was thinking as she 
drove away. 


CHAPTER IX 
UNTIL NEXT SPRING 

Within a week of his sudden death in Eldrick’s pri- 
vate office, old Antony Bartle was safely laid in the tomb 
under the yew-tree of which Mrs. Clough had spoken 
with such appreciation, and his grandson had entered 
into virtual possession of all that he had left. Colling- 
wood found little difficulty in settling his grandfather’s 
affairs. Everything had been left to him: he was sole 
executor as well as sole residuary legatee. He found his 
various tasks made uncommonly easy. Another book- 
seller in the town hurried to buy the entire stock and 
business, goodwill, book debts, everything — Collingwood 
was free of all responsibility of the shop in Quagg Alley 
within a few days of the old man’s funeral. And when 
he had made a handsome present to the housekeeper, a 
suitable one to the shop-boy, and paid his grandfather’s 
last debts, he was free to depart — a richer man by some 
five-and-twenty thousand pounds than when he hurried 
down to Barford in response to Eldrick’s telegram. 

He sat in Eldrick’s office one afternoon, winding up 
his affairs with him. There were certain things that Eld- 
rick & Pascoe would have to do; as for himself it was 
necessary for him to get back to London. 

93 


94 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘‘There’s something I want to propose to you,” said 
Eldrick, when they had finished the immediate business. 
“You’re going to practise, of course?” 

‘ ‘ Of course ! ’ ’ replied Collingwood, with a laugh. ‘ ‘ If 
I get the chance ! ’ ’ 

“You’ll get the chance,” said Eldrick. “What were 
you going in for?” 

‘ ‘ Commercial law-^-company law — as a special thing, 
answered Collingwood. 

“Why?” 

“I’ll tell you what it is,” continued Eldrick eagerly. 
“There’s a career for you if you’ll take my advice. 
Leave London — come down here and take chambers in 
the town, and go the North-Eastern Circuit. I ’ll prom- 
ise you — for our firm alone — plenty of work. You’ll 
get more — there’s lots of work waiting here for a 
good, smart young barrister. Ah ! — you smile, but 
I know what I’m talking about. You don’t know 
Barford men. They believe in the old adage that one 
should look at home before going abroad. They’re ter- 
ribly litigious, too, and if you were here, on the spot, 
they’d give you work. What do you say, Collingwood?” 

‘ ‘ That sounds very tempting. But I was thinking of 
sticking to London. ’ ’ 

“Not one hundredth part of the chance in London that 
there is here!” affirmed Eldrick “We badly want two 
or three barristers in this place. A man who’s really 
well up in commercial and company law would soon have 
his hands full. There’s work, I tell you. Take my ad- 
vice, and come!” 

“I couldn’t come — in any case — for a few months,” 


UNTIL NEXT SPRING 95 

said Collingwood, musingly. course, if you really 

think there’s an opening ” 

‘T know there is!” asserted Eldrick. “I’ll guaran- 
tee you lots of work — our work. I’m sick of fetching 
men down all the way from town, or getting them from 
Leeds. Come ! — and you ’ll see. ’ ’ 

“I might come in a few months’ time, and try things 
for a year or two,” replied Collingwood. “But I’m off 
to India, you know, next week, and I shall be away until 
the end of spring — four months or so. ’ ’ 

“To India!” exclaimed Eldrick. “What are you go- 
ing to do there ? ’ ’ 

“Sir John Standridge,” said Collingwood, mention- 
ing a famous legal luminary of the day, “is going out to 
Hyderabad to take certain evidence, and hold a sort of 
inquiry, in a big case, and I ’m going with him as his sec- 
retary and assistant — I was in his chambers for two 
years, you know. We leave next week, and we shall not 
be back until the end of April.” 

“Lucky man!” remarked the solicitor. “Well, when 
you return, don’t forget what I’ve said. Come back! — 
you’ll not regret it. Come and settle down. Bye-the- 
bye, you’re not engaged, are you?” 

“Engaged?” said Collingwood. “To what — to whom 
— what do you mean ? ” 

“Engaged to be married,” answered Eldrick coolly. 
“You’re not? Good! If you want a wife, there’s Miss 
Mallathorpe. Nice, clever girl, my boy — and no end of 
what Barford folk call brass. The very woman for 
you.” 

“Do you Barford people ever think of anything else 


96 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

but what you call brass ? ’ ’ asked Collingwood, laughing. 

‘‘Sometimes,” replied Eldrick. “But it’s generally 
of something that nothing but brass can bring or pro- 
duce. After all, a rich wife isn’t a despicable thing, 
nowadays. You’ve seen this young lady?” 

“I’ve been there once,” asserted Collingwood. 

“Go again — before you leave,” counselled Eldrick. 
“You’re just the right man. Listen to the counsels of 
the wise! And while you’re in India, think well over 
my other advice. I tell you there’s a career for you, 
here in the North, that you’d never get in town.” 

Collingwood left him and went out — to find a motor- 
car and drive off to Normandale Grange, not because Eld- 
rick had advised him to go, but because of his promise to 
Harper and Nesta Mallathorpe. And once more he 
found Nesta alone, and though he had no spice of van- 
ity in his composition it seemed to him that she was 
glad when he walked into the room in which they had first 
met. 

“My mother is out — gone to town — to the mill,” she 
said. “And Harper is knocking around the park with 
a gun — killing rabbits — and time. He’ll be in presently 
to tea — and he’ll be delighted to see you. Are you going 
to stay in Barf ord much longer ? ’ ’ 

“I’m going up to town this evening — seven o’clock 
train,” answered Collingwood, watching her keenly. 
“All my business is finished now — for the present.” 

“But — you’ll be coming back?” she asked. 

“Perhaps,” he said. “I may come back — after a 
while. ’ ’ 

“When you do come back,” she went on, a little hur- 


UNTIL NEXT SPRING 97 

riedly, ‘‘will you come and see us again? I — it’s diffi- 
cult to explain — but I do wish Harper knew more men — 
the right sort of men. Do you understand?” 

“You mean — he needs more company?” 

“More company of the right kind. He doesn’t know 
many nice men. And he has so little to occupy him. 
He’s no head for business — my mother attends to all 
that — and he doesn’t care much about sport — and when 
he goes into Barford he only hangs about the club, and, 
I’m afraid, at two or three of the hotels there, and — 
it’s not good for him.” 

“Can’t you get him interested in anything?” sug- 
gested Collingwood. “Is there nothing that he cares 
about?” 

“He never did care about anything,” replied Nesta 
with a sigh. “He’s apathetic! He just moves along. 
Sometimes I think he was born half asleep, and he’s never 
been really awakened. Pity, isn ’t it ? ” 

“Considering everything — a great pity,” agreed Col- 
lingwood. ‘ ‘ But — he ’s provided for. ’ ’ 

Nesta gave him a swift glance. 

“It might have been a good deal better for him if 
he hadn’t been provided for!” she said. “He’d have 
just had to do something, then. But — if you come back, 
you’ll come here sometimes?” 

‘ ‘ Of course ! ’ ’ answered Collingwood. ‘ ‘ And if I come 
back, it will probably be to stop here. Mr. Eldrick says 
there’s a lot of work going begging in Barford — for a 
smart young barrister well up in commercial law. Per- 
haps I may try to come up to his standard — I ’m certainly 
young, but I don’t know whether I’m smart.” 


98 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

“Better come and try,” she said, smiling. “Don’t 
forget that I’ve seen you look the part, anyway— your 
wig and gown suited you very well. 

“Theatrical properties,” he replied, laughing. “The 
wig was too small, and the gown too long. Well — we’ll 
see. But in the meantime, I’m going away for four 
months — to India.” 

“To India — four months!” she exclaimed. “That 
sounds nice.” 

“Legal business,” said Collingwood. “I shall be back 
about the end of April — and then I shall probably come 
down here again, and seriously consider Eldrick’s sug- 
gestion. I’m very much inclined to take it.” 

“Then — you’d leave London?” she asked. 

“I’ve little to leave there,” replied Collingwood. 
“My father and mother are dead, and I’ve no brothers, 
no sisters — no very near relations. Sounds lonely, 
doesn’t it?” 

“One can feel lonely when one has relations,” said 
Nesta. 

“Are you saying that from — experience?” he asked. 

* ‘ I often wish I had more to do, ’ ’ she answered frankly. 
“What’s the use of denying it? I’ve next to nothing 
to do, here. I liked my work at the hospital — I was busy 
all day. Here ” 

“If I were you,” interrupted Collingwood, “I’d set 
to work nursing in another fashion. Look after your 
brother ! Get him going at something — even if it ’s play- 
ing golf. Play with him 1 It would do him — and you — 
all the good in the world if you got thoroughly infatu- 
ated with even a game. Don’t you see?” 


UNTIL NEXT SPRING 99 

‘^You mean — anything is better than nothing,’’ she 
replied. ‘‘All right — I’ll try that, anyway. For — 
I ’m anxious about Harper. All this money ! — and no oc- 
cupation ! ’ ’ 

Collingwood, who was sitting near the windows, looked 
out across the park and into the valley beyond. 

‘ ‘ I should have thought that a man who had come into 
an estate like this would have found plenty of occupa- 
tion,” he remarked. “What is there, beside the house 
and this park?” 

Nest a, who had busied herself with some fancy-work 
since Collingwood ’s entrance, laid it down and came 
to the windows. She pointed to certain roofs and gables 
in the valley. 

“There’s the whole village of Normandale,” she said. 
“A busy place, no doubt, but it’s all Harper’s — he’s lord 
of the manor. He’s patron of the living, too. It’s all 
his — farms, cottages, everything. And the woods, and 
the park, and this house, and a stretch of the moors, as 
well. Of course, he ought to find a lot to do — but he 
doesn’t. Perhaps because my mother does everything. 
She really is a business woman.” 

Collingwood looked out over the area which Nesta 
had indicated. Harper Mallathorpe, he calculated, must 
be possessed of some three or four thousand acres. 

“A fine property!” he said. “He’s a very fortunate 
fellow I ” 

Just then this very fortunate fellow came in. His 
face, dull enough as he entered, lighted up at sight of 
a visitor, and fell again when Collingwood explained 
that his visit was a mere flying one, and that he was 


100 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

returning to London that night. Collingwood led him 
on to the project which he had mentioned at his previous 
visit — the making of golf links in the park, and pointed 
out, as a devotee of the sport, what a fine course could 
be made. Before he left he had succeeded in arousing 
like interest in Harper — he promised to go into the 
matter, and to employ a man whom Collingwood recom- 
mended as an expert in laying out golf courses. 

“You 11 have got your greens in something like order 
by this time next year, if you start operations soon,” 
said Collingwood. “And then, if I settle down at Bar- 
ford, 111 come out now and then, if you 11 let me.” 

‘ ‘ Let you ! ’ ’ exclaimed Harper. ‘ ‘ By Jove ! — we ’re 
only too glad to have anybody out here — aren’t we, 
Nesta?” 

“We shall always be glad to see Mr. Collingwood,” 
said Nesta. 

Collingwood went away with that last intimation warm 
in his memory. He had an idea that the girl meant what 
she said — and for a moment he was sorry that he was 
going to India. He might have settled down at Barford 
there and then, and — but at that he laughed at himself. 

“A young woman with several thousands a year of 
her own!” he said. “Of course, she’ll marry some big 
pot in the county. They feel a little lonely, those two, 
just now, because everything’s new to them, and they’re 
new to their changed circumstances. But when I get 
back — ah! — I guess they’ll have got plenty of people 
around them.” 

And he determined, being a young man of sense, not 
to think any more — for already he had thought a good 


UNTIL NEXT SPRING 101 

deal of Nesta Mallathorpe, until he returned from his 
Indian travels. Let him attend to his business, and 
leave possibilities until they came nearer. 

“All the same,” he mused, as he drew near the town 
again, “I’m pretty sure I shall come back here next 
spring — I feel like it.” 

He called in at Eldrick’s office on his way to the 
hotel, to take some documents which had been prepar- 
ing for him. It was then late in the afternoon, and no 
one but Pratt was there — Pratt, indeed, had been wait- 
ing until Collingwood called. 

‘ ‘ Going back to town, Mr. Collingwood ? ’ ’ asked Pratt 
as he handed over a big envelope. “When shall we 
have the pleasure of seeing you again, sir?” 

Something in the clerk’s tone made Collingwood think 
— he could not tell why — that Pratt was fishing for in- 
formation. And — also for reasons which he could not 
explain — Collingwood had taken a curious dislike to 
Pratt, and was not inclined to give him any confidence. 

“I don’t know,” he answered, a little icily. “I am 
leaving for India next week. ’ ’ 

He bade the clerk a formal farewell and went off, and 
Pratt locked the office door and slowly followed him 
downstairs. 

“To India!” he said to himself, watching the young 
barrister’s retreating figure. “To India, eh? For a 
time — or for — ^what?” 

Anyway, that was good news. Pratt had seen in 
Collingwood a possible rival. 


CHAPTER X 
THE FOOT-BRIDGE 

Collingwood ’s return to London was made on a Friday 
evening: next day he began the final preparations for 
his departure to India on the following Thursday. He 
was looking forward to his journey and his stay in India 
with keen expectation. He would have the society of a 
particularly clever and brilliant man ; they were to break 
their journey in Italy and in Egypt; he would enjoy 
exceptional facilities for seeing the native life of India; 
he would gain valuable experience. It was a chance at 
which any young man would have jumped, and Colling- 
wood had been greatly envied when it was known that 
Sir John Standridge had offered it to him. And yet he 
was conscious that if he could have done precisely what 
he desired, he would have stayed longer at Barford, in 
order to see more of Nesta Mallathorpe. Already it 
seemed a long time to the coming spring, when he would 
be back — and free to go North again. 

But Collingwood was fated to go North once more 
much sooner than he had dreamed of. As he sat at 
breakfast in his rooms on the Monday morning after 
his departure from Barford, turning over his newspaper 
with no particular aim or interest, his attention was sud- 
denly and sharply arrested by a headline. Even that 
102 


THE FOOT-BRIDGE 103 

headline might not have led him to read what lay beneath. 
But in the same instant in which he saw it he also saw a 
name — Mallathorpe. In the next he knew that heavy 
trouble had fallen on Normandale Grange, the very day 
after he had left it. 

This is what Collingwood read as he sat, coffee-cup in 
one hand, newspaper in the other — staring at the lines of 
unleaded type: 

TRAGIC FATE OP YOUNG YORKSHIRE 
SQUIRE 

^‘A fatal accident, of a particularly sad and disturbing 
nature, occurred near Barford, Yorkshire, on Saturday. 
About four o^clock on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Linford 
Pratt, managing clerk to Messrs. Eldrick & Paseoe, So- 
licitors, of Barford, who was crossing the grounds of 
Normandale Grange on his way to a business appoint- 
ment, discovered the dead body of Mr. H. J. Mallathorpe, 
the owner of the Normandale Estate, lying in a roadway 
which at that point is spanned, forty feet above, by a 
narrow foot-bridge. The latter is an ancient construc- 
tion of wood, and there is no doubt that it was in ex- 
tremely bad repair, and had given way when the un- 
fortunate young gentleman, who was out shooting in his 
park, stepped upon it. Mr. Mallathorpe, who was only 
twenty-four years of age, succeeded to the Normandale 
estates, one of the finest properties in the neighbourhood 
of Barford, about two years ago, under somewhat ro- 
mantic — and also tragic — circumstances, their previous 
owner, his uncle, Mr. John Mallathorpe, a well-known 


104 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Barford manufacturer, meeting a sudden death by the 
falling of his mill chimney — a catastrophe which also 
caused the deaths of several of his employees. Mr. John 
Mallathorpe died intestate, and the estate at Norman- 
dale passed to the young gentleman who met such a sad 
fate on Saturday afternoon. Mr. H. J. Mallathorpe was 
unmarried, and it is understood that Normandale 
(which includes the village of that name, the advowson 
of the living, and about four thousand acres of land) 
now becomes the property of his sister, Miss Nesta Malla- 
thorpe. ’ ’ 

Collingwood set down his cup, and dropped the news- 
paper. He was but half way through his breakfast, but 
all his appetite had vanished. All that he was conscious 
of was that here was trouble and grief for a girl in 
whom — it was useless to deny it — he had already begun 
to take a warm interest. And suddenly he started from 
his chair and snatched up a railway guide. As he turned 
over its pages, he thought rapidly. The preparations 
for his journey to India were almost finished — what 
was not done he could do in a few hours. He had no 
further appointment with Sir John Standridge until 
nine o’clock on Thursday morning, when he was to meet 
him at the train for Dover and Paris. Monday — Tues- 
day — Wednesday — he had three days — ample time to 
hurry down to Normandale, to do what he could to help 
there, and to get back in time to make his own last ar- 
rangements. He glanced at his watch — ^he had forty 
minutes in which to catch an express from King’s Cross 
to Barford. Without further delay he picked up a 


THE FOOT-BRIDGE 105 

suit-case which was already packed and set out for the 
station. 

He was in Barford soon after two o^clock — in Eldrick’s 
office by half-past two. Eldrick shook his head at sight 
of him. 

‘ ‘ I can guess what ’s brought you down, Collingwood, ’ ’ 
he said. ''Good of you, of course — I don’t think they’ve 
many friends out there.” 

' ' I can scarcely call myself that — yet, ’ ’ answered Col- 
lingwood. "But — I thought I might be of some use. 
I’ll drive out there presently. But first — how was it?” 

Eldrick shook his head. 

"Don’t know much more than what the papers say,” 
he answered. "There’s an old foot-bridge there that 
spans a road in the park — road cut through a ravine. 
They say it was absolutely rotten, and the poor chap’s 
weight was evidently too much for it. And there was a 
drop of forty feet into a hard road. Extraordinary 
thing that nobody on the estate seems to have known of 
the dangerous condition of that bridge! — ^but they say 
it was little used — simply a link between one plantation 
and another. However — it’s done, now. Our clerk — 
Pratt, you know — found the body. Hadn’t been dead 
five minutes, Pratt says.” 

"What was Pratt doing there?” asked Collingwood. 

"Oh, business of his own,” replied Eldrick. "Not 
ours. There was an advertisement in Saturday’s papers 
which set out that a steward was wanted for the Norman- 
dale estate, and Pratt mentioned it to me in the morn- 
ing that he thought of applying for the job if we’d give 
him a good testimonial. I suppose he’d gone out there 


106 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

to see about the preliminaries. Anyway, he was walk- 
ing through the park when he found young Mallathorpe s 
body. I understand he made himself very useful, too, 
and I’ve sent him out there again today, to do anything 
he can — smart chap, Pratt!” 

‘ ‘ Possibly, then, there is nothing I can do, ’ ’ remarked 
Collingwood. 

‘‘I should say you’ll do a lot by merely going there,” 
answered Eldrick. “As I said just now, they’ve few 
friends, and no relations, and I hear that Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe is absolutely knocked over. Go, by all means — 
a bit of sympathy goes a long way on these occasions. 
I say! — what a regular transformation an affair of this 
sort produces. Do you know, that young fellow, just 
like his uncle, had not made any will! Fact! — I had 
it from Robson, their solicitor, this very morning. The 
whole of the estate comes to the sister, of course — she 
and the mother will share the personal property. By 
that lad’s death, Nesta Mallathorpe becomes one of the 
wealthiest young women in Yorkshire!” 

Collingwood made no reply to this communication. 
But as he drove off to Normandale Grange, it was fresh 
in his mind. And it was not very pleasant to him. 
One of the wealthiest young women in Yorkshire! — 
and he was already realizing that he would like to make 
Nesta Mallathorpe his wife : it was because he felt what 
he did for her that he had rushed down to do anything 
he could that would be of help. Supposing — only sup- 
posing — that people — anybody — said that he was for- 
tune-hunting ! Somewhat unduly sensitive, proud, al- 
most to a fault, he felt his cheek redden at the thought. 


THE EOOT-BRIDGE lOl' 

and for a moment he wished that old John Mallathorpe 's 
wealth had never passed to his niece. But then he 
sneered at himself for his presumption. 

“Ass!’’ he said. “She’s never even thought of me — 
in that way, most likely! Anyway, I’m a stupid fool 
for thinking of these things at present. ’ ’ 

But he knew, within a few minutes of entering the big, 
desolate-looking house, that Nesta had been thinking of 
him. She came to him in the room where they had first 
met, and quietly gave him her hand. 

“I was not surprised when they told me you were 
here, ’ ’ she said. ‘ ‘ I was thinking about you — or, rather, 
expecting to hear from you.” 

“I came at once,” answered Collingwood, who had 
kept her hand in his. “I — well, I couldn’t stop away. 
I thought, perhaps, I could do something — ^be of some 
use.” 

“It’s a great deal of use to have just — come,” she said. 
“Thank you! But — I suppose you’ll have to go?” 

“Not for two days, anyway,” he replied. “What 
can I do ? ” 

“I don’t know that you can actually do anything,” 
she answered. “Everything is being done, Mr. Eldrick 
sent his clerk, Mr. Pratt — ^who found Harper — he’s been 
most kind and useful. He — and our own solicitor — are 
making all arrangements. There’s got to be an inquest. 
No — I don’t know that you can do actual things. But — 
while you’re here — you can look in when you like. My 
mother is very ill — she has scarcely spoken since Satur- 
day.” 

“I’ll tell you what I will do,” said Collingwood deter- 


108 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

minedly. “I noticed in coming through the village just 
now that there’s quite a decent inn there. I’ll go down 
and arrange to stay there until Wednesday evening 
— then I shall be close by — if you should need me.” 

He saw by her look of quick appreciation and relief 
that this suggestion pleased her. She pressed his hand 
and withdrew her own. “Thank you again!” she said. 
“Do you know — I can’t quite explain — I should be glad 
if you were close at hand? Everybody has been very 
kind — but I do feel that there is nobody I can talk to. 
If you arrange this, will you come in again this eve- 
ning?” 

“I shall arrange it,” answered Collingwood. “I’ll 
see to it now. Tell your people I am to be brought in 
whenever I call. And — I’ll be close by whenever you 
want me. ’ ’ 

It seemed little to say, little to do, but he left her 
feeling that he was being of some use. And as he went 
off to make his arrangements at the inn he encountered 
Pratt, who was talking to the butler in the outer hall. 

The clerk looked at Collingwood with an unconcern 
and a composure which he was able to assume because 
he had already heard of his presence in the house. In- 
wardly, he was malignantly angry that the young bar- 
rister was there, but his voice was suave, and polite 
enough when he spoke. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Collingwood,” he said quietly. 
“Very sad occasion on which we meet again, sir. Come 
to offer your sympathy, Mr. Collingwood, of course — ^very 
kind of you.” 

“I came,” answered Collingwood, who was not in- 


THE FOOT-BRIDGE 109 

dined to bandy phrases with Pratt, ‘‘to see if I could be 
of any practical use.” 

“Just so, sir,” said Pratt. “Mr. Eldrick sent me here 
for the same purpose. There’s really not much to do 
— beyond the necessary arrangements, which are already 
pretty forward. Going back to town, sir ? ” he went on, 
following Collingwood out to his motor-car, which stood 
waiting in the drive. 

“No!” replied Collingwood. “I’m going to send this 
man to Barford to fetch my bag to the inn down there 
in the village, where I’m going to stay for a few days. 
Did you hear that ? ” he continued, turning to the driver. 
“Go back to Barford — get my bag from the Station Hotel 
there — bring it to the Normandale Arms — I’ll meet you 
there on your return.” 

The car went otf, and Collingwood, with a nod to 
Pratt, was about to turn down a side path towards the 
village. But Pratt stopped him. 

“Would you care to see the place where the accident 
happened, Mr. Collingwood?” he said. “It’s close by 
— won ’t take five minutes. ’ ’ 

Collingwood hesitated a moment ; then he turned back. 
It might be well, he reflected, if he made himself ac- 
quainted with all the circumstances of this case, simple 
as they seemed. 

“Thank you,” he said. “If it’s so near.” 

“This way, sir,” responded Pratt. He led his com- 
panion along the front of the house, through the shrub- 
beries at the end of a wing, and into a plantation by a 
path thickly covered with pine needles. Presently they 
emerged upon a similar track, at right angles to that by 


110 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

which they had come, and leading into a denser part of 
the woods. And at the end of a hundred yards of it 
they came to a barricade, evidently of recent construc- 
tion, over which Pratt stretched a hand. “There!’’ he 
said. “That’s the bridge, sir.” Collingwood looked 
over the barricade. He saw that he and Pratt were 
standing at the edge of one thick plantation of fir and 
pine; the edge of a similar plantation stretched before 
them some ten yards away. But between the two lay 
a deep, dark ravine, which, immediately in front of the 
temporary barricade, was spanned by a narrow rustic 
bridge — a fragile-looking thing of planks, railed in by 
boughs of trees. And in the middle was a jagged gap 
in both fioor and side-rails, showing where the rotten 
wood had given way. 

“I’ll explain, Mr. Collingwood,” said the clerk pres- 
ently. “I knew this park, sir — I knew it well, before 
the late Mr. John Mallathorpe bought the property. 
That path at the other end of the bridge makes a short 
cut down to the station in the valley — through the woods 
and the lower part of the park. I came up that path, 
from the station, on Saturday afternoon, intending to 
cross this bridge and go on to the house, where I had 
private business. When I got to the other end of the 
bridge, there, I saw the gap in the middle. And then 
I looked down into the cut — there ’s a road — a paved road 
— down there, and I saw — him! And so I made shift 
to scramble down — stiff job it was ! — to get to him. But 
he was dead, Mr. Collingwood — stone dead, sir ! — though 
I’m certain he hadn’t been dead five minutes. And ” 

“Aye, an’ he’d never ha’ been dead at all, wouldn’t 


THE FOOT-BRIDGE 111 

young Squire, if only his ma had listened to what I tolled 
her!’' interrupted a voice behind them. “He’d ha’ 
been alive at this minute, he would, if his ma had done 
what I said owt to be done — ^now then!” 

Collingwood turned sharply — to confront an old man, 
evidently one of the woodmen on the estate who had come 
up behind them unheard on the thick carpeting of pine 
needles. And Pratt turned, too — ^with a keen look and 
a direct question. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. “What are you 
talking about ? ’ ’ 

“I know what I’m talking about, young gentleman,” 
said the man doggedly. “I ain’t worked, lad and man, 
on this one estate nine-and-forty years — and happen 
more — wi’out knowin’ all about it. I tell’d Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe on Friday noon ’at that there owd brig ’ud fall 
in afore long if it wom’t mended. I met her here, at 
this very place where we’re standin’, and I showed her 
’at it worn’t safe to cross it. I tell’d her ’t she owt 
to have it fastened up theer an’ then. It’s been rottin’ 
for many a year, has this owd brig — ^why, I mind when 
it wor last repaired, and that wor years afore owd Mestur 
Mallathorpe bowt this estate!” 

“When do you say you told Mrs. Mallathorpe all 
that?” asked Pratt. 

“Friday noon it were, sir,” answered the woodman. 
“When I were on my way home — dinner time. ’Cause I 
met the missis here, and I made bold to tell her what 
I’d noticed. That there owd brig! — lor’ bless yer, gen- 
tlemen! it were black rotten i’ the middle, theer where 
poor young maister he fell through it. ‘Ye mun hev’ 


112 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

that seen to at once, missis, ’ I says. ‘ Sartin sure, ’tain ’t 
often as it’s used,’ I says, ‘but surely sartin ’at if it 
ain’t mended, or closed altogether,’ I says, ‘summun’il 
be going through and brekkin’ their necks,’ I says. An’ 
reight, too, gentlemen — forty feet it is down to that 
road. An’ a mortal hard road, an’ all, paved wi’ granite 
stone all t’ way to t’ stable-yard.” 

“You’re sure it was Friday noon?” repeated Pratt. 

“As sure as that I see you,” answered the woodman. 
“An’ Mrs. Mallathorpe she said she’d hev it seen to. 
Dear-a-me! — it should ha’ been closed!” 

The old man shook his head and went off amongst the 
trees, and Pratt, giving his vanishing figure a queer 
look, turned silently back along the path, followed by 
Collingwood. At the point where the other path led to 
the house, he glanced over his shoulder at the young 
barrister. 

“If you keep straight on, Mr. Collingwood,” he said, 
“you’ll get straight down to the village and the inn. 
I must go this way.” 

He went off rapidly, and Collingwood walked on 
through the plantation towards the Normandale Arms 
— wondering, all the way, why Pratt was so anxious to 
know exactly when it was that Mrs. Mallathorpe had 
been warned about the old bridge. 


CHAPTER XI 

THE PREVALENT ATMOSPHERE 

Until that afternoon Collingwood had never been in 
the village to which he was now bending his steps; on 
that and his previous visits to the Grange he had only 
passed the end of its one street. Now, descending into 
it from the slopes of the park, he found it to be little 
more than a hamlet — a church, a farmstead or two, a 
few cottages in their gardens, all clustering about a nar- 
row stream spanned by a high-arched bridge of stone. 
The Normandale Arms, a roomy, old-fashioned place, 
stood at one end of the bridge, and from the windows 
of the room into which Collingwood was presently shown 
he could look out on the stream itself and on the mea- 
dows beyond it. A peaceful, pretty, quiet place — but 
the gloom which was heavy at the big house on the hill 
seemed to have spread to everybody that he encountered. 

‘‘Bad job, this, sir!” said the landlord, an elderly, 
serious-faced man, to whom Collingwood had made 
known his wants, and who had quickly formed the opin- 
ion that his guest was of the legal profession. “And a 
queer one, too! Odd thing, sir, that our old squire, 
and now the young one, should both have met their 
deaths in what you might term violent fashion. ’ ’ 

“Accident — in both cases,” remarked Collingwood. 

113 


114 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

The landlord nodded his head — and then shook it in a 
manner which seemed to indicate that while he agreed 
with this proposition in one respect he entertained some 
sort of doubt about it in others. 

“Ay, well!” he answered. “Of course, a mill chim- 
ney falling, without notice, as it were, and a bridge 
giving way — themes accidents, to be sure. But it’s a 
very strange thing about this foot-bridge, up yonder at 
the Grange — very strange indeed! There’s queer talk 
about it, already.” 

“What sort of talk?” asked Collingwood. Ever since 
the old woodman had come up to him and Pratt, as 
they stood looking at the foot-bridge, he had been aware 
of a curious sense of mystery, and the landlord’s remark 
tended to deepen it. “What are people talking about?” 

“Nay — it’s only one or two,” replied the landlord. 
“There’s been two men in here since the affair happened 
that crossed that bridge Friday afternoon — and both 
of ’em big, heavy men. According to what one can 
learn that there bridge wasn’t used much by the Grange 
people — it led to nowhere in particular for them. But 
there is a right of way across that part of the park, and 
these two men as I’m speaking of — they made use of it 
on Friday — getting towards dark. 1 know ’em well — 
they’d both of ’em weigh four times as much — together 
— as young Squire Mallathorpe, and yet it didn’t give 
way under them. And then — only a few hours later, as 
you might say, down it goes with him ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I don ’t think you can form any opinion from that ! ’ ’ 
said Collingwood. “These things, these old structures, 
often give way quite suddenly and unexpectedly.” 


THE PREVALENT ATMOSPHERE 115 

^‘Ay, well, they did admit, these men too, that it 
seemed a bit tottery, like,” remarked the landlord. 
“Talking it over, between themselves, in here, they 
agreed, to be sure, that it felt to give a bit. All the 
same, there 's them as says that it ’s a queer thing it should 
ha' given altogether when young squire walked on it.” 

Collingwood clinched matters with a straight question. 

“You don’t mean to say that people are suggesting 
that the foot-bridge had been tampered with ? ” he asked. 

“There is them about as wouldn’t be slow to say as 
much, ’ ’ answered the landlord. ‘ ‘ Folks will talk ! You 
see, sir — nobody saw what happened. And when coun- 
try folk doesn’t see what takes place, with their own 
eyes, then they ” 

“Make mysteries out of it,” interrupted Collingwood, 
a little impatiently. ‘ ‘ I don ’t think there ’s any mystery 
here, landlord — I understood that this foot-bridge was 
in a very unsafe condition. No ! I’m afraid the whole 
affair was only too simple. ’ ’ 

But he was conscious, as he said this, that he was not 
precisely voicing his own sentiments. He himself was 
mystified. He was still wondering why Pratt had been 
so pertinacious in asking the old woodman when, pre- 
cisely, he had told Mrs. Mallathorpe about the unsafe 
condition of the bridge — still wondering about a certain 
expression which had come into Pratt’s face when the 
old man told them what he did — still wondering at the 
queer look which Pratt had given the information as 
he went off into the plantation. Was there, then, some- 
thing — some secret which was being kept back by — some- 
body ? 


116 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

He was still pondering over these things when he 
went back to the Grange, later in the evening — but he 
vras resolved not to say anything about them to Nesta. 
And he saw Nesta only for a few minutes. Her mother, 
she said, was very ill indeed — the doctor was with her 
then, and she must go back to them. Since her son’s 
death, Mrs. Mallathorpe had scarcely spoken, and the 
doctor, knowing that her heart was not strong, was 
somewhat afraid of a collapse. 

“If there is anything that I can do, — or if you should 
want me, during the night, ’ ’ said Collingwood, earnestly, 
“promise me that you’ll send at once to the inn!” 

“Yes,” answered Nesta. “I will. But — I don’t 
think there will be any need. We have two nurses here, 
and the doctor will stop. There is something I should 
be glad if you would do tomorrow, ’ ’ she went on, looking 
at him a little wistfully. “You know about^ — the in- 
quest?” 

“Yes,” said Collingwood. 

“They say we — that is I, because, of course, my 
mother couldn’t — that I need not be present,” she con- 
tinued. “Mr. Robson — our solicitor — says it will be a 
very short, formal affair. He will be there, of course, 
— but — would you mind being there, too? — so that you 
can — afterwards — tell me all about it?” 

“Will you tell me something — straight out?” answered 
Collingwood, looking intently at her. “Have you any 
doubt of any description about the accepted story of 
your brother ’s death ? Be plain with me ! ” 

Nesta hesitated for awhile before answering. 

“Not of the actual circumstances,” she replied at last. 


THE PREVALENT ATMOSPHERE 117 

“No! — none at all of what you call the accepted story. 
I — the fact is, I’m not a good hand at explaining any- 
thing, and perhaps I can’t convey to you what I mean. 
But I ’ve a feeling — an impression — that there is — or was 
— some mystery on Saturday which might have — and 
might not have — oh, I can’t make it clear, even to my- 
self! If you would be at the inquest tomorrow, and 
listen carefully to everything — and then tell me after- 
wards — do you understand?” 

“I understand,” answered Collingwood. “Leave it 
to me.” 

Whether he expected to hear anything unusual at the 
inquest, whether he thought any stray word, hint, or 
suggestion would come up during the proceedings, Col- 
lingwood was no more aware than Nesta was certain of 
her vague ideas. But he was very soon assured that 
there was going to be nothing beyond brevity and formal- 
ity. He had never previously been present at an in- 
quest — his legal mind was somewhat astonished at the 
way in which things were done. It was quickly evident 
to him that the twelve good men and true of the jury 
— most of them cottagers and labourers living on the 
estate — were quite content to abide by the directions of 
the coroner, a Barford solicitor, whose one idea seemed 
to be to get through the proceedings as rapidly and 
smoothly as possible. And Collingwood felt bound to 
admit that, taking the evidence as it was brought for- 
ward, no simpler or more straightforward cause of in- 
vestigation could be adduced. It was all very simple 
indeed — as it appeared there and then. 

The butler, a solemn-faced, respectable type of the old 


llg THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

family serving-man, spoke as to his identification of his 
dead master’s body, and gave his evidence in a few sen- 
tences. Mr. Mallathorpe, he said, had gone out of the 
front door of the Grange at half-past two on Saturday 
afternoon, carrying a gun, and had turned into the path 
leading towards the South Shrubbery. At about three 
o’clock Mr. Pratt had come running up the drive to 
the house, and told him and Miss Mallathorpe that he had 
just found Mr. Mallathorpe lying dead in the sunk road 
between the South and North Shrubbery. Nobody had 
any question to ask the butler. Nor were any questions 
asked of Pratt — the one really important witness. 

Pratt gave his evidence tersely and admirably. On 
Saturday morning he had seen an advertisement in the 
Barford newspapers which stated that a steward and 
agent was wanted for the Normandale Estate, and that 
applications were to be made to Mrs. Mallathorpe. De- 
sirous of applying for the post, he had \vritten out his 
formal letter during Saturday morning, had obtained a 
testimonial from his present employers, Messrs. Eldrick 
& Pascoe, and, anxious to present his application as soon 
as possible, had decided to take it to Normandale Grange 
himself, that afternoon. He had left Barford by the two 
o’clock train, which arrived at Normandale at two-twen- 
ty-five. Ejiowing the district well, he had taken the path 
through the plantations. Arrived at the foot-bridge, he 
had at once noticed that part of it had fallen in. Look- 
ing into the cutting, he had seen a man lying in the road- 
way beneath — motionless. lie had scrambled down the 
side of the cutting, discovered that the man was Mr. 


THE PREVALENT ATMOSPHERE 119 

Harper Mallathorpe, and that he was dead, and had im- 
mediately hurried up the road to the house, where he had 
informed the last witness and Miss Mallathorpe. 

A quite plain story, evidently thought everybody — ^no 
questions needed. Nor were there any questions needed 
in the case of the only other witnesses — the estate car- 
penter who said that the foot-bridge was very old, but 
that he had not been aware that it was in quite so bad 
a condition, and who gave it as his opinion that the 
recent heavy rains had had something to do with the 
matter ; and the doctor who testified that the victim had 
suffered injuries which would produce absolutely instan- 
taneous death. A clear case — nothing could be clearer, 
said the coroner to his obedient jury, who presently re- 
turned the only verdict — one of accidental death — ^which, 
on the evidence, was possible. 

Collingwood heard no comments on the inquest from 
those who were present. But that evening, as he sat in 
his parlour at the Normandale Arms, the landlord, com- 
ing in on pretence of attending to the fire, approached 
him with an air of mystery and jerked his thumb in the 
direction of the regions which he had just quitted. 

‘‘You remember what we were talking of this after- 
noon when you come in, sir?’^ he whispered. “There’s 
some of ’em — regular nightly customers, village folk, 
you understand — talking of the same thing now, and 
of this here inquest. And if you’d like to hear a bit of 
what you may call local opinion — and especially one 
man’s — I’ll put you where you can hear it, without be- 
ing seen. It’s worth hearing, anyway.” 


120 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Collingwood, curious to know what the village wise- 
acres had to say, rose, and followed the landlord into a 
small room at the back of the bar-parlour. 

An open hatchment in the wall, covered by a thin 
curtain, allowed him to hear every word which came 
from what appeared to be a full company. But it was 
quickly evident that in that company there was one 
man who either was, or wished to be dictator and artifex 
— a man of loud voice and domineering tone, who was 
laying down the law to the accompaniment of vigorous 
thumpings of the table at which he sat. ‘‘What I say is 
— and I say it agen — I reckon nowt at all o’ crowners’ 
quests!” he was affirming, as Collingwood and his guide 
drew near the curtained opening. “What is a crown- 
er’s quest, anyway’^. It’s nowt but formality — all form 
and show — it means nowt. All them ’at sits on t’ jury 
does and says just what t’ crowner tells ’em to say and 
do. They nivver ax no questions out o ’ their own mouths 
— they’re as dumb as sheep — that’s what yon jury wor 
this mornin ’ — now then 1 ’ ’ 

“That’s James Stringer, the blacksmith,” whispered 
the landlord, coming close to Collingwood ’s elbow. “He 
thinks he knows everything ! ’ ’ 

“And pray, what would you ha’ done, Mestur 
Stringer, if you’d been on yon jury?” inquired a milder 
voice. “I suppose ye’d ha’ wanted to know a bit more, 
what?” “Mestur Stringer ’ud ha’ wanted to know a 
deal more,” observed another voice. “He would do!” 

“There’s a many things I want to know,” continued 
the blacksmith, with a stout thump of the table. “They 
all tak’ it for granted ’at young squire walked on to yon 


THE PREVALENT ATMOSPHERE 121 

bridge, an’ ’at it theer and then fell to pieces. Who 
see’d it fall to pieces? Who was theer to see what did 
happen ? ’ ’ 

“What else did happen or could happen nor what were 
testified to ? ” asked a new voice. ‘ ‘ Theer wor what they 
call circumstantial evidence to show how all t’ affair 
happened ! ’ ’ 

“Circumstantial evidence be blowed!” sneered the 
blacksmith heartily. “I reckon nowt o’ circumstantial 
evidence ! Look ye here ! How do you know — how does 
anybody know ’at t ’ young squire worn ’t thrown off that 
bridge, and ’at t ’ bridge collapsed when he wor thrown ? 
He might ha’ met somebody on t’ bridge, and quarrelled 
wi’ ’em, and whoivver it wor might ha’ been t’ strongest 
man, and flung him into t’ road beneath!” 

“Aye, but i’ that case t’ other feller — t’ assailant — 
’ud ha’ fallen wi’ him,” objected somebody. 

“Nowt o’ t’ sort!” retorted the blacksmith. “He’d 
be safe on t’ sound part o’ t’ bridge — it’s only a piece 
on ’t that gave way. I say that theer idea wants in- 
quirin’ into. An’ theer ’s another thing — what wor that 
lawyer-clerk chap fro’ Barford — Pratt — doin’ about 
theer? What reight had he to be prowlin’ round t’ 
neighbourhood o ’ that bridge, and at that time ? Come, 
now! — theer ’s a tickler for somebody.” 

“He telled that,” exclaimed several voices. “He had 
business i’ t’ place. He had some papers to ’liver.” 

“Then why didn’t he go t’ nearest way to t’ house 
t’ ’liver ’em?” dernanded Stringer. “T’ shortest way 
to t’ house fro’ t’ railway station is straight up t’ car- 
riage drive — not through them plantations. I ax agen 


122 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

— ^what wor that feller doin' theer? It’s important.” 

‘^Why, ye don’t suspect him of owt, do yer, Mestur 
Stringer?” asked somebody. ‘'A respectable young fel- 
ler like that theer — come ! ’ ’ 

“I’m sayin’ nowt about suspectin’ nobody!” vocifer- 
ated the blacksmith. “I’m doin’ nowt but puttin’ a 
case, as t’ lawyers ’ud term it. I say ’at theer ’s a lot 
o’ things ’at owt to ha’ corned out. I’ll tell ye one on 
’em — ^how is it ’at nowt — not a single word — wor said at 
yon inquest about Mrs. Mallathorpe and t’ affair? Not 
one word!” 

A sudden silence fell on the company, and the land- 
lord tapped Collingwood’s arm and took the liberty of 
winking at him. 

“Why,” inquired somebody, at last, “what about Mrs. 
Mallathorpe and t’ affair? What had she to do wi’ t’ 
affair?” 

The blacksmith’s voice became judicial in its solem- 
nity. 

“Ye listen to me!” he said with emphasis. “I know 
what I’m talking about. Ye know what came out at 
t’ inquest. When this here Pratt ran to tell t’ news 
at t’ house he returned to what they term t’ fatal spot 
i’ company wi’ t’ butler, and a couple of footmen, and 
Dan Scholes, one o’ t’ grooms. Now theer worn’t a 
word said at t’ inquest about what that lot — five on em, 
mind yer — found when they reached t’ dead corpse — 
not one word! But I know — Dan Scholes tell’d me!” 

“What did they find, then, Mestur Stringer?” asked 
an eager member of the assemblage. “What wor it?” 


THE PREVALENT ATMOSPHERE US 

The blacksmith’s voice sank to a mysterious whisper. 

“I’ll tell yer!” he replied. “They found Mrs. Mal- 
lathrope, lyin ’ i ’ a dead faint — close by ! And they say 
’at she’s niwer done nowt but go out o’ one faint into 
another, ivver since. So, of course, she’s niwer been 
able to tell if she saw owt or knew owt ! And what I say 
is,” he concluded, with a heavy thump of the table, “that 
theer crowner’s quest owt to ha’ been what they term 
adjourned, until Mrs. Mallathorpe could tell if she did 
see owt, or if she knew owt, or heer’d owt ! She mun ha’ 
been close by — or else they wo’dn’t ha’ found her lyin’ 
theer aside o’ t’ corpse. What did she see? What did 
she hear? Does she know owt? I tell ye ’at theer ’s 
questions ’at wants answerin’ — and theer ’s trouble 
ahead for somebody if they aren’t answered — now 
then!” 

Collingwood went away from his retreat, beckoning the 
landlord to follow. In the parlour he turned to him. 

“Have you heard anything of what Stringer said 
just now?” he asked. “I mean — about Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe?” 

“Heard just the same — and from the same chap, 
Scholes, the groom, sir,” replied the landlord. “Oh, 
yes! Of course, people will wonder why they didn’t get 
some evidence from Mrs. Mallathorpe — just as Stringer 
says.” 

Collingwood sat a long time that night, thinking over 
the things he had heard. He came to the conclusion that 
the domineering blacksmith was right in one of his 
dogmatic assertions — there was trouble ahead. And 


IM THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

next morning, before going up to the Grange, he went 
to the nearest telegraph office, and sent Sir John Stan- 
dridge a lengthy message in which he resigned the ap- 
pointment that would have taken him to India. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY 

Collingwood had many things to think over as he 
walked across Normandale Park that morning. He had 
deliberately given up his Indian appointment for Nesta’s 
sake, so that he might be near her in case the trouble 
which he feared arose suddenly. But it was too soon 
yet to let her know that she was the cause of his altered 
arrangements — in any case, that was not the time to 
tell her that it was on her account that he had altered 
them. 

He must make some plausible excuse: then he must 
settle down in Barford, according to Eldrick’s sugges- 
tion. He would then be near at hand — and if the trou- 
ble, whatever it might be, took tangible form, he would 
be able to help. But he was still utterly in the dark as 
to what that possible trouble might be — yet, of one thing 
he felt convinced — it would have some connection with 
Pratt. 

He remembered, as he walked along, that he had 
formed some queer, uneasy suspicion about Pratt when 
he first hurried down to Barford on hearing of Antony 
Bartle ’s death : that feeling, subsequently allayed to some 
extent, had been revived. There might be nothing in 
it, he said to himself, over and over again; everything 
125 


126 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
that seemed strange might be easily explained; the 
evidence of Pratt at the inquest had appeared absolutely 
truthful and straightforward, and yet the blunt, rough, 
downright question of the blacksmith, crudely voiced 
as it was, found a ready agreement in Collingwood’s 
mind. As he drew near the house he found himself re- 
peating Stringer’s broad Yorkshire — ‘‘What wor that 
lawyer-clerk chap fro’ Barford — Pratt — doin’ about 
theer? What reight had he to be prowlin’ round t’ 
neighbourhood o’ that bridge, and at that time? Come, 
now — theer’s a tickler for somebody!” And even as he 
smiled at the remembrance of the whole rustic conver- 
sation of the previous evening, and thought that the 
blacksmith’s question certainly might be a ticklish one 
— for somebody — he looked up from the frosted grass at 
his feet, and saw Pratt. 

Pratt, a professional-looking bag in his hand, a morn- 
ing newspaper under the other arm, was standing at 
the gate of one of the numerous shrubberies which 
flanked the Grange, talking to a woman who leaned over 
it. Collingwood recognized her as a person whom he 
had twice seen in the house during his visits on thfe day 
before — a middle-aged, slightly built woman, neatly 
dressed in black, and wearing a sort of nurse’s cap which 
seemed to denote some degree of domestic servitude. She 
was a woman who had once been pretty, and who still 
retained much of her 'good looks ; she was also evidently 
of considerable shrewdness and intelligence and pos- 
sessed a pair of remarkably quick eyes — the sort of eyes, 
thought Collingwood, that see everything that happens 
within their range of vision. And she had a firm chin 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY 127 

and a mouth, which expressed determination ; he had seen 
all that as she exchanged some conversation with the 
old butler in Collingwood’s presence — a noticeable 
woman altogether. She was evidently in close confer- 
ence with Pratt at that moment — but as Collingwood 
drew near she turned and went slowly in the direction 
of the house, while Pratt, always outwardly polite, 
stepped towards the interrupter of this meeting, and 
lifted his hat. 

“Good morning, Mr. Collingwood,” he said. “A fine, 
sharp morning, sir! I was just asking Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe ’s maid how her mistress is this morning — she was 
very ill when I left last night. Better, sir, I’m glad to 
say — Mrs. Mallathorpe has had a much better night.” 

“I’m very pleased to hear it,” replied Collingwood. 
He was going towards the front of the Grange, and 
Pratt walked at his side, evidently in the same direction. 
“I am afraid she has had a great shock. You are still 
here, then?” he went on, feeling bound to make some 
remark, and saying the first obvious thing. ‘ ‘ Still 
busy ? ’ ’ 

“Mr. Eldrick has lent me — ^so to speak — until the 
funeral’s over, tomorrow,” answered Pratt. “There 
are a lot of little things in which I can be useful, you 
know, Mr. Collingwood. I suppose your arrangements 
— you said you were sailing for India — won’t permit of 
your being present tomorrow, sir?” 

Collingwood was not sure if the clerk was fishing for 
information. Pratt’s manner was always polite, his 
questions so innocently put, that it was difficult to know 
what he was actually after. But he was not going to 


128 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

give him any information — either then, or at any time. 

“I don’t quite know what my arrangements may be,” 
he answered. And just then they came to the front en- 
trance, and Collingwood was taken off in one direction 
by a footman, while Pratt, who already seemed to be fully 
acquainted with the house and its arrangements, took 
himself and his bag away in another. 

Nesta came to Collingwood looking less anxious than 
when he had left her at his last call the night before. 
He had already told her what his impressions of the 
inquest were, and he was now wondering whether to 
tell her of the things he had heard said at the village 
inn. But remembering that he was now going to stay in 
the neighbourhood, he decided to say nothing at that 
time — if there was anything in these vague feelings and 
suspicions it would come out, and could be dealt with 
when it arose. At present he had need of a little diplo- 
macy. 

“Oh! — I wanted to tell you,” he said, after talking 
to her awhile about Mrs. Mallathorpe. “I — there’s a 
change in my arrangements, I’m not going to India, after 
all.” 

He was not prepared for the sudden flush that came 
over the girl’s face. It took him aback. It also told 
him a good deal that he was glad to know — and it was 
only by a strong effort of will that he kept himself from 
taking her hands and telling her the truth. But he af- 
fected not to see anything, and he went on talking rap- 
idly. “Complete change in the arrangements at the 
last minute, ’ ’ he said. “ I ’ve just been writing about it. 
So — as that’s off, I think I shall follow Eldrick’s ad- 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY 129 

vice, and take chambers in Barford for a time, and see 
how things turn out. I’m going into Barford now, to 
see Eldrick about all that.” 

Nesta, who was conscious of her betrayal of more than 
she cared to show just then, tried to speak calmly. 

“But — isn’t it an awful disappointment?” she said. 
“You were looking forward so to going there, weren’t 
you ? ’ ’ 

“Can’t be helped,” replied Collingwood. “All these 
affairs are — provisional. I thought I’d teU you at once, 
however — so that you’ll know — if you ever want me — 
that I shall be somewhere round about. In fact, as it’s 
quite comfortable there, I shall stop at the inn until I ’ve 
got rooms in the town.” 

Then, not trusting himself to remain longer, he went 
off to Barford, certain that he was now definitely pledged 
in his own mind to Nesta Mallathorpe, and not much 
less that when the right time came she would not be 
irresponsive to him. And on that, like a cold douche, 
came the remembrance of her actual circumstances — she 
was what Eldrick had said, one of the wealthiest young 
women in Yorkshire. The thought of her riches made 
Collingwood melancholy for a while — he possessed a 
curious sort of pride which made him hate and loathe 
the notion of being taken for a fortune-hunter. But 
suddenly, and with a laugh, he remembered that he had 
certain possessions of his own — ability, knowledge, and 
perseverance. Before he reached Eldrick ’s office, he had 
had a vision of the Woolsack. 

Eldrick received Collingwood ’s news with evident grat- 
ification. He immediately suggested certain chambers 


130 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

in an adjacent building; he volunteered information as 
to where the best rooms in the town were to be had. 
And in proof of his practical interest in Collingwood’s 
career, he there and then engaged his professional serv- 
ices for two cases which were to be heard at a local court 
within the following week. 

“Pratt shall deliver the papers to you at once,^^ he 
said. “That is, as soon as he’s back from Normandale 
this afternoon. I sent him there again — to make himself 
useful. ’ ’ 

“I saw him this morning,” remarked Collingwood. 
“He appears to be a very useful person.” 

“Clever chap,” asserted Eldrick, carelessly. “I don’t 
know what ’ll be done about that stewardship that he was 
going to apply for. Everything will be altered now that 
young Mallathorpe’s dead. Of course, I, personally, 
shouldn’t have thought that Pratt would have done for 
a job like that, but Pratt has enough self-assurance and 
self-confidence for a dozen men, and he thought he would 
do, and I couldn’t refuse him a testimonial. And as he’s 
made himself very useful out there, it may be that if this 
steward business goes forward, Pratt will get the ap- 
pointment. As I say, he’s a smart chap.” 

Collingwood offered no comment. But he was con- 
scious that it would not be at all pleasing to him to 
know that Linford Pratt held any official position at 
Normandale. Foolish as it might be, mere inspiration 
though it probably was, he could not get over his im- 
pression that Eldrick ’s clerk was not precisely trust- 
worthy. And yet, he reflected, he himself could do noth- 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY 131 

ill? — it would be utter presumption on his part to offer 
any gratuitous advice to Nesta Mallathorpe in business 
matters. He was very certain of what he eventually 
meant to say to her about his own personal hopes, some 
time hence, when all the present trouble was over, but 
in the meantime, as regarded anything else, he could 
only wait and watch, and be of service to her if she 
asked him to render any. 

Some time went by before Collingwood was asked to 
render service of any sort. At Normandale Grange, 
events progressed in apparently ordinary and normal 
fashion. Harper Mallathorpe was buried ; his mother 
began to make some recovery from the shock of his death ; 
the legal folk were busied in putting Nesta in possession 
of the estate, and herself and her mother in proprietor- 
ship of the mill and the personal property. In Barford, 
things went on as usual, too. Pratt continued his round 
of duties at Eldrick & Pascoe’s; no more was heard — 
by outsiders, at any rate — of the stewardship at Nor- 
mandale. As for Collingwood, he settled down in cham- 
bers and lodgings and, as Eldrick had predicted, found 
plenty of work. And he constantly went out to Nor- 
mandale Grange, and often met Nesta elsewhere, and 
their knowledge of each other increased, and as the 
winter passed away and spring began to show on the 
Normandale woods and moors, Collingwood felt that the 
time was coming when he might speak. He was profes- 
sionally engaged in London for nearly three weeks in 
the early part of that spring — when he returned, he had 
made up his mind to tell Nesta the truth, at once. He 


im THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

had faced it for himself — he was by that time so much 
in love with her that he was not going to let monetary 
considerations prevent him from telling her so. 

But Collingwood found something else than love to 
talk about when he presented himself at Normandale 
Grange on the morning after his arrival from his three 
weeks’ absence in town. As soon as he met her, he saw 
that Nesta was not only upset and troubled, but angry. 

am glad you have come,” she said, when they were 
alone. “I want some advice. Something has happened 
— something that bothers — and puzzles — me very, very 
much ! I ’m dreadfully bothered. ’ ’ 

“Tell me,” suggested Collingwood. 

Nesta frowned — at some recollection or thought. 

“Yesterday afternoon,” she answered, “I was obliged 
to go into Barford, on business. I left my mother fairly 
well — she has been recovering fast lately, and she only 
has one nurse now. Unfortunately, she, too, was out 
for the afternoon. I came back to find my mother ill 
and much upset — and there’s no use denying it — she’d 
all the symptoms of having been — well, frightened. I 
can’t think of any other term than that — frightened. 
And then I learned that, in my absence, Mr. Eldrick’s 
clerk, Mr. Pratt — you know him — had been here, and had 
been with her for quite an hour. I am furiously an- 
gry !” 

Collingwood had expected this announcement as soon 
as she began to explain. So — the trouble was beginning ! 

‘ ‘ How came Pratt to be admitted to your mother ? ” he 
asked. 

“That makes me angry, too,” answered Nesta. 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY 133 

“Though I confess I ought to be angry with myself for 
not giving stricter orders. I left the house about two 
— he came about three, and asked to see my mother’s 
maid, Esther Mawson. He told her that it was abso- 
lutely necessary for him to see my mother on business, 
and she told my mother he was there. My mother con- 
sented to see him — and he was taken up. And as I say, I 
found her ill — and frightened — and that’s not the worst 
of it!” 

“What is the worst of it?” asked Collingwood, anx- 
iously. “Better tell me! — I may be able to do some- 
thing. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ The worst of it, ’ ’ she said, ‘ ‘ is just this — my mother 
won’t tell me what that man came about! She flatly 
refuses to tell me anything! She will only say that it 
was business of her own. She won ’t trust me with it, you 
see! — her own daughter! What business can that man 
have with her ? — or she with him ? Eldrick & Pascoe are 
not our solicitors! There’s some secret and ” 

“Will you answer one or two questions?” said Col- 
lingwood quietly. He had never seen Nesta angry be- 
fore, and he now realized that she had certain possibili- 
ties of temper and determination which would be for- 
midable when roused. “First of all, is that maid you 
speak of, Esther Mawson, reliable?” 

“I don’t know!” answered Nesta. “My mother has 
had her two years — she ’s a Barford woman. Sometimes 
I think she’s sly and cunning. But I’ve given her such 
strict orders now that she ’ll never dare to let any one see 
my mother again without my consent.” 

‘ ‘ The other question ’s this, ’ ’ said Collingwood. 


134! THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘ ‘ Have you any idea, any suspicion of why Pratt wanted 
to see your mother?” 

“Not unless it was about that stewardship,” replied 
Nesta. “But — how could that frighten her? Besides, 
all that’s over. Normandale is mine! — and if I have a 
steward, or an estate agent, I shall see to the appoint- 
ment myself. No ! — I do not know why he should have 
come here! But — there’s some mystery. The curious 
thing is ” 

“What?” asked Collingwood, as she paused. 

“Why,” she said, shaking her head wonderingly, 
“that I’m absolutely certain that my mother never even 
knew this man Pratt — I don’t think she even knew his 
name— until quite recently. I know when she got to 
know him, too. It was just about the time that you first 
called here — at the time of Mr. Bartle’s death. Our 
butler told me this morning that Pratt came here late 
one evening — just about that time! — and asked to see 
my mother, and was with her for some time in the study. 
Oh ! what is it all about ? — and why doesn’t she tell me ? ” 

Collingwood stood silently staring out of the window. 
At the time of Antony Bartle’s death? An evening 
visit? — evidently of a secret nature. And why paid to 
Mrs. Mallathorpe at that particular time ? He suddenly 
turned to Nesta. 

“What do you wish me to do?” he asked. 

“Will you speak to Mr. Eldrick?” she said. “Tell 
him that his clerk must not call upon, or attempt to see, 
my mother. I will not have it ! ” 

Collingwood went off to Barford, and straight to El- 
drick’s office. He noticed as he passed through the 


THE POWER OF ATTORNEY 135 
outer rooms that Pratt was not in his accustomed place 
— as a rule, it was impossible to get at either Eldrick or 
Pascoe without first seeing Pratt. 

‘ ‘ Hullo ! ’ ’ said Eldrick. ‘ ‘ J ust got in from town ? 
That^s lucky — I’ve got a big case for you.” 

“I got in last night,” replied Collingwood. ^‘But I 
went out to Normandale first thing this morning: I’ve 
just come back from there. I say, Eldrick, here’s an 
unpleasant matter to tell you of”; and he told the so- 
licitor all that Nesta had just told him, and also of 
Pratt’s visit to Mrs. Mallathorpe about the time of An- 
tony Bartle’s death. “Whatever it is,” he concluded 
sternly, “ it ’s got to stop ! If you ’ve any influence over 
your clerk ” 

Eldrick made a grimace and waved his hand. 

“He’s our clerk no longer!” he said. “He left us 
the week after you went up to town, Collingwood. He 
was only a weekly servant, and he took advantage of 
that to give me a week’s notice. Now, what game is 
Master Pratt playing? He’s smart, and he’s deep, too. 
He ” 

Just then an office-boy announced Mr. Robson, the Mal- 
lathorpe family solicitor, a bustling, rather rough-and- 
ready type of man, who came into Eldrick ’s room looking 
not only angry but astonished. He nodded to Colling- 
wood, and flung himself into a chair at the side of El- 
drick ’s desk. 

“Look here, Eldrick!” he exclaimed. “What on 
earth has that clerk of yours, Pratt, got to do with Mrs. 
Mallathorpe ? Do you know what Mrs. Mallathorpe has 
done? Hang it, she must be out of her senses, — or — or 


136 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

there’s something I can’t fathom. She’s given your 
clerk, Linford Pratt, a power of attorney to deal with 
all her affairs and all her property! Oh, it’s all right, 
I tell you! Pratt’s been to my office, and exhibited it to 
me as if — as if he were the Lord Chancellor ! ’ ’ 

Eldrick turned to Collingwood, and Collingwood to 
Eldrick — and then both turned to Robson. 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE FIRST TRICK 

The Mallathorpe family solicitor shook his head impa- 
tiently under those questioning glances. 

“It^s not a bit of use appealing to me to know what 
it means ! ’ ^ he exclaimed. ‘ ‘ I know no more than what 
IVe told you. That chap walked into my office as bold 
as brass, half an hour ago, and exhibited to me a power 
of attorney, all duly drawn up and stamped, executed 
in his favour by Mrs. Mallathorpe yesterday. And as 
Mrs. Mallathorpe is, as far as I know, in her senses, — 
why — there you are ! ’ ^ 

“What is it?’^ asked Eldrick. “A general power? 
Or a special?’’ 

“General!” answered Robson, with an air of disgust. 
“Authorizes him to act for her in all business matters. 
It means, of course, that that fellow now has full con- 
trol over — why, a tremendous amount of money! The 
estate, of course, is Miss Mallathorpe ’s — he can’t inter- 
fere with that. But Mrs. Mallathorpe shares equally 
with her daughter as regards the personal property of 
Harper Mallathorpe — his share in the business, and all 
that he left, and what’s more, Mrs. Mallathorpe is ad- 
ministratrix of the personal property. She’s simply 
placed in Pratt’s hands an enormous power! And — 
137 


138 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

for what reason? Who on earth is Pratt— what right, 
title, age, or qualification, has he to be entrusted with 
such a big affair? I never knew of such a business in 
the whole course of my professional experiences ! ’ ’ 

'‘Nor I agreed Eldrick. “But there’s one thing in 
which you’re mistaken, Robson. You ask what qualifi- 
cation Pratt has for a post of that sort? Pratt’s a very 
smart, clever, managing chap!” 

‘ ‘ Oh, of course ! He ’s your clerk I ’ ’ retorted Robson, a 
little sneeringly. “Naturally, you’ve a big idea of his 
abilities. But ’ ’ 

“He’s not our clerk any longer,” said Eldrick. “He 
left us about a week ago. I heard this morning that 
he’s set up an office in Market Street — in the Atlas 
Building — and I wondered for what purpose.” 

“Purpose of fieecing Mrs. Mallathorpe, I should say!” 
grumbled Robson. ‘ ‘ Of course, everything of hers must 
pass through his hands. What on earth can her daugh- 
ter have been thinking of to allow ’ ’ 

“Stop a bit!” interrupted Eldrick. “Collingwood 
came in to tell me about that — he’s just come from Nor- 
mandale Grange. Miss Mallathorpe complains that 
Pratt called there yesterday in her absence. That’s 
probably when this power of attorney was signed. But 
Miss Mallathorpe doesn’t know anything of it — she in- 
sists that Pratt shall not visit her mother.” 

Robson stirred impatiently in his chair. 

“That’s all bosh!” he said. “She can’t prevent it. 
I saw Mrs. Mallathorpe myself three days ago — she’s re- 
covering very well, and she’s in her right senses, and 
she’s capable of doing business. Her daughter can’t 


THE FIRST TRICK 150 

prevent her from doing anything she likes ! And if she 
did what she liked yesterday when she signed that docu- 
ment — why, everybody’s powerless — except Pratt.” 

‘‘There’s the question of how the document was ob- 
tained, ’ ’ remarked Collingwood. ‘ ‘ There may have been 
undue influence. ’ ’ 

The two solicitors looked at each other. Then Eldrick 
rose from his chair. “ I ’ll tell you what I ’ll do, ’ ’ he said. 
“It’s no affair of mine, but we employed Pratt for years, 
and he’ll confide in me. I’ll go and see him, and ask 
him what it’s all about. Wait here a while, you two.” 

He went out of his office and across into Market Street, 
where the Atlas Building, a modern range of offices and 
chambers, towered above the older structures at its foot. 
In the entrance hall a man was gilding the name of a 
new tenant on the address board — that name was Pratt’s, 
and Eldrick presently found himself ascending in the 
lift to Pratt’s quarters on the fifth floor. Within five 
minutes of leaving Collingwood and Robson, he was 
closeted with Pratt in a well-furnished and appointed lit- 
tle office of two rooms, the inner one of which was almost 
luxurious in its fittings. And Pratt himself looked 
extremely well satisfied, and confident — and quite at 
his ease. He wheeled forward an easy chair for his 
visitor, and pushed a box of cigarettes towards him. 

“Glad to see you, Mr. Eldrick,” he said, with a 
cordial politeness which suggested, however, somehow, 
that he and the solicitor were no longer master and 
servant. “How do you like my little place of busi- 
ness ? ’ ’ 

“You’re making a comfortable nest of it, anyhow. 


140 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Pratt,” answered Eldrick, looking round. ‘‘And — ^what 
sort of business are you going to do, pray?” 

“Agency,” replied Pratt, promptly. “It struck me 
some little time ago that a smart man, — like myself, eh ? 
— could do well here in Barford as an agent in a new sort 
of fashion — attending to things for people who aren’t 
fitted or inclined to do ’em for themselves — or are rich 
enough to employ somebody to look after their affairs. 
Of course, that Normandale stewardship dropped out 
when young Harper died, and I don ’t suppose the notion 
’ll be revived now that his sister ’s come in. But I ’ve got 
one good job to go on with — Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s given 
me her affairs to look after. ’ ’ 

Eldrick took one of the cigarettes and lighted it — as 
a sign of his peaceable and amicable intentions. 

“Pratt!” he said. “That’s just what I’ve come to 
see you about. Unofficially, mind — in quite a friendly 
way. It’s like this”; and he went on to tell Pratt of 
what had just occurred at his own office. “So — there 
you are,” he concluded. “I’m saying nothing, you 
know, it ’s no affair of mine — ^but if these people begin to 
say that you’ve used any undue influence ” 

“Mr. Collingwood, and Mr. Robson, and Miss Malla- 
thorpe — and anybody,” answered Pratt, slowly and 
firmly, “had better mind what they are saying, Mr. 
Eldrick. There’s such a thing as slander, as you’re well 
aware. I’m not the man to be slandered, or libelled, or 
to have my character defamed — without fighting for my 
rights. There has been no undue influence! I went 
to see Mrs. Mallathorpe yesterday at her own request. 
The arrangement between me and her is made with her 


THE FIRST TRICK 141 

approval and free will. If her daughter found her a bit 
upset, it’s because she’d such a shock at the time of her 
son’s death. I did nothing to frighten her, not I! The 
fact is. Miss Mallathorpe doesn’t know that her mother 
and I have had a bit of business together of late. And 
all that Mrs. Mallathorpe has entrusted to me is the 
power to look after her affairs for her. And why not? 
You know that I’m a good man of business, a really 
good hand at commercial accountancy, and well ac- 
quainted with the trade of this town. You know too, Mr. 
Eldrick, that I’m scrupulously honest — I’ve had many 
and many a thousand pounds of yours and your part- 
ner’s through my hands! Who’s got anything to say 
against me? I’m only trying to earn an honest liv- 
ing.” 

“Well, well!” said Eldrick, who, being an easy-going 
and kindly-dispositioned man, was somewhat inclined 
to side with his old clerk. “I suppose Mr. Robson 
thinks that if Mrs. Mallathorpe wished to put her af- 
fairs in anybody’s hands, she should have put them in 
his. He’s their family solicitor, you know, Pratt, while 
you’re a young man with no claim on Mrs. Mallathorpe.” 

Pratt smiled — a queer, knowing smile — and reached 
out his hand to some papers which lay on his desk. 

“You’re wrong there, Mr. Eldrick,” he said. “But 
of course, you don’t know. I didn’t know myself, nor 
did Mrs. Mallathorpe, until lately. But I have a claim 
— and a good one — to get a business lift from Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe. I’m a relation.” 

“What — of the Mallathorpe family?” exclaimed El- 
drick, whose legal mind was at once bitten by notion 


THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

of kinship and succession, and who knew that Harper 
Mallathorpe was supposed to have no male relatives at 
all, of any degree. “You don’t mean it?” 

“No! — but of hers, Mrs. Mallathorpe,” answered 
Pratt. “My mother was her cousin. I found that out 
by mere chance, and when I’d found it, I worked out 
the facts from our parish church register. They’re aU 
here — fairly copied — Mrs. Mallathorpe has seen them. 
So I have some claim — even if it’s only that of a poor 
relation.” 

Eldrick took the sheets of foolscap which Pratt handed 
to him, and looked them over with interest and curiosity. 
He was something of an expert in such matters, and had 
helped to edit a print more than once of the local parish 
registers. He soon saw from a hasty examination of 
the various entries of marriages and births that Pratt 
was quite right in what he said. 

“I call it a poor — and a mean — game,” remarked 
Pratt, while his old master was thus occupied, “a very 
mean game indeed, of well-to-do folk like Mr. Colling- 
wood and Mr. Robson to want to injure me in a matter 
which is no business of theirs. I shall do my duty by 
Mrs. Mallathorpe — you yourself know I’m fully compe- 
tent to do it — and I shall fully earn the percentage that 
she’ll pay me. What right have these people — what 
right has her daughter — to come between me and my 
living ? ’ ’ 

“Oh, well, well!” said Eldrick, as he handed back 
the papers and rose. “It’s one of those matters that 
hasn’t been understood. You made a mistake, you 
know, Pratt, when you went to see Mrs. Mallathorpe 


THE FIRST TRICK 143 

yesterday in her daughter’s absence. You shouldn’t 
have done that. ’ ’ 

Pratt pulled open a drawer and, after turning over 
some loose papers, picked out a letter. 

“Do you know Mrs, Mallathorpe ’s handwriting?” he 
asked. “Very well — there it is! Isn’t that a request 
from her that I should call on her yesterday afternoon? 
Very well then !” 

Eldrick looked at the letter with some surprise. He 
had a good memory, and he remembered that Colling- 
wood had told him that Nesta had said that Pratt had 
gone to Normandale Grange, seen Esther Mawson, and 
told her that it was absolutely necessary for him to see 
Mrs. Mallathorpe. And though Eldrick was naturally 
unsuspicious, an idea flashed across his mind — had Pratt 
got Mrs. Mallathorpe to write that letter while he was 
there — ^yesterday — and brought it away with him? 

“I think there’s a good deal of misunderstanding,” he 
said. “Mr. Collingwood says that you went there and 
told her maid that it was absolutely necessary for you 
to see her mistress — sort of forced yourself in, you see, 
Pratt.” 

“Nothing of the sort !” retorted Pratt. He flourished 
the letter in his hand. “Doesn’t it say there, in Mrs. 
Mallathorpe ’s own handwriting, that she particularly 
desires to see me at three o’clock? It does! Then it 
was absolutely necessary for me to see her. Come, 
now ! And Mr. Collingwood had best attend to his own 
business. What’s he got to do with all this? After 
Miss Mallathorpe and her money, I should think ! — that’s 
about it ! ” 


144 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Eldrick said another soothing word or two, and went 
back to his own office. He was considerably mystified 
by certain things, but inclined to be satisfied about oth- 
ers, and in giving an account of what had just taken 
place he unconsciously seemed to take Pratt’s side — 
much to Robson’s disgust, and to Collingwood ’s aston- 
ishment. 

'‘You can’t get over this, you know, Robson,” said 
Eldrick. “Pratt went there yesterday by appointment 
— went at Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s own express desire, made 
in her own handwriting. And it’s quite certain that 
what he says about the relationship is true — I examined 
the proof myself. It’s not unnatural that Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe should desire to do something for her own cousin’s 
son. ’ ’ 

“To that extent?” sneered Robson. “Bless me, you 
talk as if it were no more than presenting him with a 
twenty pound note, instead of its being what it is — 
giving him the practical control of many a thousand 
pounds every year. There’ll be more heard of this — 
yet!” 

He went away angrier than when he came, and Eldrick 
looked at Collingwood and shook his head. 

‘ ‘ I don ’t see what more there is to do, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ So 
far as I can make out, or see, Pratt is within his rights. 
If Mrs. Mallathorpe liked to entrust her business to him, 
what is to prevent it? I see nothing at all strange in 
that. But there is a fact which does seem uncommonly 
strange to me! It’s this — how is it that Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe doesn ’t consult, hasn ’t consulted — doesn ’t inform, 
hasn’t informed — her daughter about all this?” 


THE FIRST TRICK 145 

*^That/^ answered Collingwood, “is precisely what 
strikes me — and I can’t give any explanation. Nor, I 
believe, can Miss Mallathorpe. ” 

He felt obliged to go back to Normandale, and tell 
Nesta the result of the afternoon’s proceedings. And 
having seen during his previous visit how angry she could 
be, he was not surprised to see her become angrier and 
more determined than ever. 

“I will not have Mr. Pratt coming here!” she ex- 
claimed. “He shall not see my mother — under my roof, 
at any rate. I don ’t believe she sent for him. ’ ’ 

“Mr. Eldrick saw her letter!” interrupted Colling- 
wood quietly. 

“Then that man made her write it while he was 
here!” exclaimed Nesta. “As to the relationship — it 
may be so. I never heard of it. But I don ’t care what 
relation he is to my mother — he is not going to inter- 
fere with her affairs!” 

“The strange thing,” said Collingwood, as pointedly 
as was consistent with kindness, “is that your mother — 
just now, at any rate — doesn ’t seem to be taking you into 
her confidence.” 

Nesta looked steadily at him for a moment, without 
speaking. When she did speak it was with decision. 

“Quite so!” she said. “She is keeping something 
from me ! And if she won ’t tell me things — well, I must 
find them out for myself.” 

She would say no more than that, and Collingwood 
left her. And as he went back to Barford he cursed 
Linford Pratt soundly for a deep and underhand rogue 
who was most certainly playing some fine game. 


146 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
But Pratt himself was quite satisfied — up to that point. 
He had won his first trick and he had splendid cards 
still left in his hand. And he was reckoning his chances 
on them one morning a little later when a ring at his 
bell summoned him to his office door — whereat stood 
Nesta Mallathorpe, alone. 


CHAPTER XIV 


CARDS ON THE TABLE 

Had any third person been present, closely to observe 
the meeting of these two young people, he would have 
seen that the one to whom it was unexpected and a sur- 
prise was outwardly as calm and self-possessed as if the 
other had come there to keep an ordinary business ap- 
pointment. 

Nesta Mallathorpe, looking very dignified and almost 
stately in her mourning, was obviously angry, indignant, 
and agitated. But Pratt was as cool and as fully at 
his ease as if he were back in Eldrick’s office, receiving 
the everyday ordinary client. He swept his door open 
and executed his politest bow — and was clever enough 
to pretend that he saw nothing of his visitor’s agitation. 
Yet deep within himself he felt more tremors than one, 
and it needed all his powers of dissimulation to act and 
speak as if this were the most usual of occurrences. 

‘‘Good morning. Miss Mallathorpe!” he said. “You 
wish to see me? Come into my private office, if you 
please. I haven’t fixed on a clerk yet,” he went on, as 
he led his visitor through the outer room, and to the easy 
chair by his desk. “I have several applications from 
promising aspirants, but I have to be careful, you know. 
Miss Mallathorpe — it’s a position of confidence. And 

147 


148 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
now/^ he concluded, as he closed the door upon Neata 
and himself, “how is Mrs. Mallathorpe today? Improv- 
ing, I hope?” 

Nesta made no reply to these remarks, or to the ques- 
tion. And instead of taking the easy chair which Eld- 
rick had found so comfortable, she went to one which 
stood against the wall opposite Pratt’s desk and seated 
herself in it in as upright a position as the wall behind 
her. 

‘ ‘ I wish to speak to you — plainly ! ’ ’ she said, as Pratt, 
who now regarded her somewhat doubtfully, realizing 
that he was in for business of a serious nature, sat down 
at his desk. “I want to ask you a plain question — and 
I expect a plain answer. Why are you blackmailing my 
mother?” 

Pratt shook his head — as if he felt more sorrow than 
anger. He glanced deprecatingly at his visitor. 

‘ ‘ I think you ’ll be sorry — on reflection — that you said 
that. Miss Mallathorpe,” he answered. “You’re a little 
— shall we say — upset? A little — shall we say — angry? 
If you were calmer, you wouldn’t say such things — you 
wouldn’t use such a term as — ^blackmailing. It’s — dear 
me, I dare say you don’t know it! — it’s actionable. If 
I were that sort of man. Miss Mallathorpe, and you said 
that of me before witnesses — ah! I don’t know what 
mightn’t happen. However — I’m not that sort of man. 
But — don’t say it again, if you please!” 

“If you don’t answer my question — and at once,” 
said Nesta, whose cheeks were pale with angry determ- 
ination, “I shall say it again in a fashion you won’t like 
— not to you, but to the police ! ’ ’ 


CARDS ON THE TABLE 149 

Pratt smiled — a quiet, strange smile which made his 
visitor feel a sudden sense of fear. And again he shook 
his head, slowly and deprecatingly. 

^ ‘ Oh, no ! ” he said gently. ‘ ‘ That ’s a bigger mistake 
than the other. Miss Mallathorpe ! The police ! Oh, not 
the police, I think. Miss Mallathorpe. You see — other 
people than you might go to the police — about something 
else."' 

Nesta’s anger cooled down under that scarcely veiled 
threat. The sight of Pratt, of his self-assurance, his 
comfortable offices, his general atmosphere of almost sleek 
satisfaction, had roused her temper, already strained to 
breaking point. But that smile, and the quiet look which 
accompanied his last words, warned her that anger was 
mere foolishness, and that she was in the presence of a 
man who would have to be dealt with calmly if the deal- 
ings were to be successful. Yet — she repeated her 
words, but this time in a different tone. 

‘T shall certainly go to the police authorities,” she 
said, “unless I get some proper explanation from you. 
I shall have no option. You are forcing — or have forced 
— my mother to enter into some strange arrangements 
with you, and I can’t think it is for anything but what 
I say — ^blackmail. You’ve got — or you think you’ve got 
— some hold on her. Now what is it ? I mean to know, 
one way or another!” 

“Miss Mallathorpe,” said Pratt. “You’re taking a 
wrong course — ^with me. Now who advised you to come 
here and speak to me like this, as if I were a common 
criminal? Mr. Collingwood, no doubt? Or perhaps 
Mr. Robson? Now if either ” 


150 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
‘‘Neither Mr. Robson nor Mr. Collingwood know any- 
thing whatever about my coming here!^’ retorted Nesta. 
“No one knows! I am quite competent to manage my 
own affairs — of this sort. I want to know why my 
mother has been forced into that arrangement with you 
— for I am sure you have forced her! If you will not 
tell me why — then I shall do what I said. ’ ’ 

“You’ll go to the police authorities?” asked Pratt. 
“Ah! — ^but let us consider things a little, Miss Malla- 
thorpe. Now, to start with, who says there has been 
any forcing? I know one person who won’t say so — 
and that’s your mother herself!” 

Nesta felt unable to answer that assertion. And 
Pratt smiled triumphantly and went on. 

“She’ll tell you — Mrs. Mallathorpe ’ll tell you — that 
she ’s very pleased indeed to have my poor services, ’ ’ he 
said. “She knows that I shall serve her well. She’s 
glad to do a kind service to a poor relation. And since 
I am your mother’s relation, Miss Mallathorpe, I’m 
yours, too. I’m some degree of cousin to you. You 
might think rather better, rather more kindly, of me ! ” 
“Are you going to tell me anything more than that?” 
asked Nesta steadily. Pratt shrugged his shoulders and 
waved his hands. 

“What more can I tell?” he asked. “The fact is, 
there’s a business arrangement between me and your 
mother — and you object to it. Well — I’m sorry, but 
I’ve my own interests to consider.” 

“Are you going to tell me what it was that induced 
my mother to sign that paper you got from her the other 
day ? ’ ’ asked Nesta. 


CARDS ON THE TABLE 151 

‘ ‘ Can I say more than that it was — a business arrange- 
ment?” pleaded Pratt. ‘‘There’s nothing unusual in 
one party in a business arrangement giving a power of 
attorney to another party. Nothing!” 

“Very well!” said Nesta, rising from the straight- 
backed chair, and looking very rigid herself as she stood 
up. “You won’t tell me anything! So — I am now go- 
ing to the police. I don’t know what they’ll do. I 
don’t know what they can do. But — I can tell them 
what I think, and feel about this, at any rate. For as 
sure as I am that I see you, there’s something wrong! 
And I’ll know what it is.” 

Pratt recognized that she had passed beyond the stage 
of mere anger to one of calm determination. And as 
she marched towards the door he called her back — as the 
result of a second’s swift thought on his part. 

“Miss Mallathorpe, ” he said. “Oblige me by sitting 
down again. I’m not in the least afraid of your going 
to the police. But my experience is that if one goes to 
them on errands of this sort, it sets all sorts of things 
going — scandal, and suspicion, and I don’t know what! 
You don’t want any scandal. Sit down, if you please, 
and let us think for a moment. And I’ll see if I can 
tell you — what you want to know.” 

Nesta already had a hand on the door. But after 
looking at him for a second or two, she turned back, and 
sat down in her old position. And Pratt, still seated at 
his desk, plunged his hands in his trousers pockets, tilted 
back his chair, and for five minutes stared with knitted 
brows at his blotting pad. A queer silence fell on the 
room. The windows were double-sashed ; no sound came 


152 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

up from the busy street below. But on the mantelpiece 
a cheap Geneva clock ticked and ticked, and Nesta felt 
at last that if it went on much longer, without the accom- 
paniment of a human voice, she should suddenly snatch 
it up, and hurl it — anywhere. 

Pratt was in the position of the card-player, who, con- 
fronted by a certain turn in the course of a game which 
he himself feels sure he is bound to win, wonders whether 
he had better not expedite matters by laying his cards 
on the table, and asking his opponent if he can possibly 
beat their values and combination. He had carefully 
reckoned up his own position more than once during 
the progress of recent events, and the more carefully he 
calculated it the more he felt convinced that he had 
nothing to fear. He had had to alter his ground in con- 
sequence of the death of Harper Mallathorpe, and he 
had known that he would have to fight Nesta. But he 
had not anticipated that hostilities would come so soon, 
or begin with such evident determination on her part. 
How would it be, then, at this first stage to make such a 
demonstration in force that she would recognize his 
strength ? 

He looked up at last and saw Nesta regarding him 
sternly. But Pratt smiled — the quiet smile which made 
her uneasy. 

‘ ‘ Miss Mallathorpe ! ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ I was thinking of two 
things just then — a game at cards — and the science of 
warfare. In both it’s a good thing sometimes to let 
your adversary see what a strong hand you ’ve got. Now, 
then, a question, if you please — are you and I adver- 
saries ? ’ ’ 


CARDS ON THE TABLE 153 

^‘Yes!’’ answered Nesta unflinchingly. ‘^You’re act- 
ing like an enemy — you are an enemy ! ’ ^ 

“IVe hoped that you and I would he friends — good 
friends/’ said Pratt, with something like a sigh. “And 
if I may say so, I’ve no feeling of enmity towards you. 
When I speak of us being adversaries, I mean it in — 
well, let’s say a sort of legal sense. But now I’ll show 
you my hand — that is, as far as I please. Will you lis- 
ten quietly to me?” 

“I’ve no choice,” replied Nesta bluntly. “And I 
came here to know what you’ve got to say for yourself. 
Say it!” 

Pratt moved his chair a little nearer to his visitor. 

“Now,” he said, speaking very quietly and deliber- 
ately, “I’ll go through what I have to say to you care- 
fully, point by point. I shall ask you to go back a little 
way. It is now some time since I discovered a secret 
about your mother, Mrs. Mallathorpe. Ah, you start! 
— it may be with indignation, but I assure you I ’m telling 
you, and am going to tell you, the absolute truth. I 
say — a secret! No one knows it but myself — not one 
living soul! Except, of course, your mother. I shall 
not reveal it to you — under any consideration, or in 
any circumstances — but I can tell you this — if that se- 
cret were revealed, your mother would be ruined for 
life — and you yourself would suffer in more ways than 
one. ’ ’ 

Nesta looked at him credulously — and yet she began 
to feel he was telling some truth. And Pratt shook his 
head at the incredulous expression. 

“It’s quite so!” he said. “You’ll begin to believe 


154 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
it — from other things. Now, it was in connection with 
this that I paid a visit to Normandale Grange one eve- 
ning some months ago. Perhaps you never heard of 
that? I was alone with your mother for some time in 
the study.’’ 

“I have heard of it,” she answered. 

“Very good,” said Pratt. “But you haven’t heard 
that your mother came to see me at my rooms here in 
Barford — my lodgings — the very next night! On the 
same business, of course. But she did — I know how she 
came, too. Secretly — heavily veiled — naturally, she 
didn’t want anybody to know. Are you beginning to 
see something in it. Miss Mallathorpe ? ” 

“Go on with your — story,” answered Nesta. 

“I go on, then, to the day before your brother’s 
death,” continued Pratt. “Namely, a certain Friday. 
Now, if you please. I’ll invite you to listen carefully to 
certain facts — which are indisputable, which I can prove, 
easily. On that Friday, the day before your brother’s 
death, Mrs. Mallathorpe was in the shrubbery at Nor- 
mandale Grange which is near the north end of the old 
foot-bridge. She was approached by Hoskins, an old 
woodman, who has been on the estate a great many 
years — ^you know him well enough. Hoskins told Mrs. 
Mallathorpe that the foot-bridge between the north and 
south shrubberies, spanning the cut which was made 
there a long time since so that a nearer road could be 
made to the stables, was in an extremely dangerous con- 
dition — so dangerous, in fact, that in his opinion, it 
would collapse under even a moderate weight. I impress 
this fact upon you strongly. ’ ’ 


CARDS ON THE TABLE 155 

‘‘Well?” said Nesta. 

“Hoskins,” Pratt went on, “urged upon Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe the necessity of having the bridge closed at once, 
or barricaded. He pointed out to her from where they 
stood certain places in the bridge, and in the railing 
on one side of it, which already sagged in such a fashion, 
that he, as a man of experience, knew that planks and 
railings were literally rotten with damp. Now what 
did Mrs. Mallathorpe do ? She said nothing to Hoskins, 
except that she’d have the thing seen to. But she im- 
mediately went to the estate carpenter’s shop, and there 
she procured two short lengths of chain, and two pad- 
locks, and she herself went back to the foot-bridge and 
secured its wicket gates at both ends. I beg you will 
bear that in mind, too. Miss Mallathorpe.” 

“I am bearing everything in mind,” said Nesta reso- 
lutely. “Don’t be afraid that I shall forget one word 
that you say.” 

“I hear that sneer in your voice,” answered Pratt, 
as he turned, unlocked a drawer, and drew out some 
papers. ‘ ‘ But I think you will soon learn that the sneer 
at what I’m telling you is foolish. Mrs. Mallathorpe 
had a set purpose in locking up those gates — as you will 
see presently. You will see it from what I am now go- 
ing to tell you. Oblige me, if you please, by looking at 
that letter. Do you recognize your mother’s handwrit- 
ing?” 

“Yes!” admitted Nesta, with a sudden feeling of ap- 
prehension. “That is her writing.” 

“Very good,” said Pratt. “Then before I read it to 
you. I’ll just tell you what this letter is. It formed, 


156 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

when it was written, an invitation from Mrs. Mallathorpe 
to me — an invitation to walk, innocently, into what she 
knew — knew, mind you ! — to be a death-trap ! She 
meant me to fall through the bridge!” 


CHAPTER XV 


PRATT OFFERS A HAND 

For a full moment of tense silence Nesta and Pratt 
looked at each other across the letter which he held in 
his outstretched hand — looked steadily and with a cer- 
tain amount of stem inquiry. And it was Nesta ’s eyes 
which first gave way — ^beaten by the certainty in Pratt’s. 
She looked aside ; her cheeks flamed ; she felt as if some- 
thing were rising in her throat — to choke her. 

‘‘I can’t believe that!” she muttered. “You’re — 
mistaken! Oh — utterly mistaken!” 

“No mistake!” said Pratt confidently. “I tell you 
your mother meant me — me ! — to meet my death at that 
bridge. Here’s the proof in this letter! I’ll tell you, 
first, when I received it: then I’ll read you what’s in it, 
and if you doubt my reading of it, you shall read it 
yourself — but it won’t go out of my hands! And first 
as to my getting it, for that ’s important. It reached me, 
by registered post, mind you, on the Saturday morning 
on which your brother met his death. It was handed 
in at Normandale village post-office for registration late 
on the Friday afternoon. And — by whom do you 
think?” 

“I — don’t know!” replied Nesta faintly. This mer- 
ciless piling up of details was beginning to frighten her 
157 


158 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
— already she felt as if she herself were some criminal, 
forced to listen from the dock to the opening address 
of a prosecuting counsel. “How should I know? — how 
can I think?” 

“It was handed in for registration by your mother’s 
maid, Esther Mawson,” said Pratt with a dark look. 
“I’ve got her evidence, anyway ! And that was all part 
of a plan — just as a certain something that was en- 
closed was a part of the same plan — a plot. And now 
I’ll read you the letter — and you’ll bear it in mind that 
I got it by first post that Saturday morning. This is 
what it — what your mother — says : — 

“ ‘ I particularly wish to see you again, at once, about 
the matter between us and to have another look at that 
document. Can you come here, bringing it with you, 
tomorrow, Saturday afternoon, by the train which leaves 
soon after two o’clock? As I am most anxious that 
your visit should be private and unknown to any one 
here, do not come to the house. Take the path across 
the park to the shrubberies near the house, so that if 
you are met people would think you were taking a near 
cut to the village. I will meet you in the shrubbery on 
the house side of the little foot-bridge. The gates ’ ” 

Pratt suddenly paused, and before proceeding looked 
hard at his visitor. 

“Now listen to what follows — and bear in mind what 
your mother knew, and had done, at the time she wrote 
this letter. This is how the letter goes on — let every 
word fix itself in your mind, Miss Mallathorpe! 


PRATT OFFERS A HAND 159 

‘‘ ‘The gates of the foot-bridge are locked, but the 
enclosed keys will open them. I will meet you amongst 
the trees on the further side. Be sure to come and to 
bring that document — I have something to say about it 
on seeing it again. ^ 

Pratt turned to the drawer from which he had taken 
the letter and took out two small keys, evidently be- 
longing to patent padlocks. He held them up before 
Nest a. 

“There they are!’^ he said triumphantly. “Been in 
my possession ever since — and will remain there. Now 
— do you wish to read the letter? I’ve read it to you 
word for word. You don’t? Very good — ^back it goes 
in there, with these keys. And now then, ’ ’ he continued, 
having replaced letter and keys in his drawer, and turned 
to her again, “now then, you see what a diabolical scheme 
it was that was in your mother ’s mind against me. She 
meant me to meet with the fate which overtook her own 
son ! She meant me to fall through that bridge. Why ? 
She hoped that I should break my neck — as he did! 
She wanted to silence me — ^but she also wanted more — 
she wanted to take from my dead body, or my uncon- 
scious body, the certain something which she was so 
anxious I should bring with me, which she referred to 
as that document. She was willing to risk anything — 
even to murder! — to get hold of that. And now you 
know why I went to Normandale Grange that Saturday 
— you know, now, the real reason. I told a deliberate 
lie at the inquest, for your mother’s sake — for your sake, 
if you know it. I did not go there to hand in my ap- 


160 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
plication for the stewardship — I went in response to 
the letter I’ve just read. Is all this clear to you?” 

Nesta could only move her head in silent acquiescence. 
She was already convinced, that whether all this was 
entirely true or not, there was truth of some degree in 
what Pratt had told her. And she was thinking of her 
mother — and of the trap which she certainly appeared to 
have laid — and of her brother’s fate — and for the moment 
she felt sick and beaten. But Pratt went on in that cold, 
calculating voice, telling his story point by point. 

“Now I come to what happened that Saturday after- 
noon,” he said. “I may as well tell you that in my 
own interest I have carefully collected certain evidence 
which never came out at the inquest — which, indeed, 
has nothing to do with the exact matter of the inquest. 
Now, that Saturday, your mother and you had lunch 
together — ^your brother, as we shall see in a moment, 
being away — at your lunch time — a quarter to two. 
About twenty minutes past two your mother left the 
house. She went out into the gardens. She left the gar- 
dens for the shubberies. And at twenty-five minutes 
to three, she was seen by one of your gardeners. Feather- 
stone, in what was, of course, hiding, amongst the trees 
at the end of the north shrubbery. What was she doing 
there. Miss Mallathorpe? She was waiting! — ^waiting 
until a certain hoped-for accident happened — to me! 
Then she would come out of her hiding-place in the 
hope of getting that document from my pocket! Do 
you see how cleverly she’d laid her plans — murderous 
plans?” 


PRATT OFFERS A HAND 161 

Nesta was making a great effort to be calm. She knew 
now that she was face to face with some awful mystery 
which could only be solved by patience and strenuous 
endeavour. She knew, too, that she must show no sign 
of fear before this man ! 

“Will you finish your story, if you please?” she 
asked. 

‘ ‘ In my own way — in my own time, ’ ’ answered Pratt. 
“I now come to — ^your mother. On the Friday noon, 
the late Mr. Harper Mallathorpe went to Barford to 
visit a friend — young Stemthwaite, at the Hollies. He 
was to stay the night there, and was not expected home 
until Saturday evening. He did stay the night, and 
remained in Barford until noon on Saturday; but he 
— unexpectedly — returned to the house at half-past two. 
And almost as soon as he’d got in, he picked up a gun 
and strolled out — into the gardens and the north shrub- 
bery. And, as you know, he went to the foot-bridge. 
You see. Miss Mallathorpe, your mother, clever as she 
was, had forgotten one detail — the gates of that foot- 
bridge were merely low, four-barred things, and there 
was nothing to prevent an active young man from climb- 
ing them. She forgot another thing, too — that warning 
had not been given at the house that the bridge was dan- 
gerous. And, of course, she’d never, never calculated 
that your brother would return sooner than he was ex- 
pected, or that, on his return, he’d go where he did. 
And so — but I’ll spare you any reference to what hap- 
pened. Only — ^you know now how it was that Mrs. Mal- 
lathorpe was found by her son ’s body. She ’d been wait- 


162 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

ing about — for me ! But — the fate she ’d meant for me 

was dealt out to — him!’' 

In spite of herself Nesta gave w^ay to a slight cry. 

“I can’t bear any more of that!” she said. “Have 
you finished?” 

“There’s not much more to say — now at any rate,” 
replied Pratt. “And what I have to say shall be to the 
point. I’m sorry enough to have been obliged to say 
all that I have said. But, you know, you forced me to 
it! You threatened me. The real truth. Miss Malla- 
thorpe, is just this — you don’t understand me at all. 
You come here — excuse my plain speech — hectoring and 
bullying me with talk about the police, and blackmail, 
and I don’t know what! It’s I who ought to go to the 
police! I could have your mother arrested, and put in 
the dock, on a charge of attempted murder, this very 
day! I’ve got all the proofs.” 

“I suppose you held that out as a threat to her when 
you forced her to sign that power of attorney?” ob- 
served Nesta. 

For the first time since her arrival Pratt looked at 
his visitor in an unfriendly fashion. His expression 
changed and his face fiushed a little. 

“You think that, do you?” he said. “Well, you’re 
wrong. I’m not a fool. I held out no such threat. I 
didn’t even tell your mother what I’d found out. I 
wasn’t going to show her my hand all at once — though 
I ’ve shown you a good deal of it. ’ ’ 

“Not all?” she asked quickly. 

“Not all,” answered Pratt with a meaning glance. 
“To use more metaphors — I’ve several cards up my 


PRATT OFFERS A HAND 163 

sleeve, Miss Mallathorpe. But you’re utterly wrong 
about the threats. I’ll tell you — I don’t mind that — 
how I got the authority you’re speaking about. Your 
mother had promised me that stewardship — for life. 
I’d have been a good steward. But we recognized that 
your brother’s death had altered things — that you, be- 
ing, as she said, a self-willed young woman — you see 
how plain I am — would insist on looking after your own 
affairs. So she gave me — another post. I’ll discharge 
its duties honestly.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Nesta, “but you’ve already told me that 
you’d a hold on my mother before any of these recent 
events happened, and that you possess some document 
which she was anxious to get into her hands. So it 
comes to this — you’ve a double hold on her, according 
to your story.” 

“Just so,” agreed Pratt. “You’re right, I have — a 
double hold.” 

Nesta looked at him silently for a while : Pratt looked 
at her. 

“Very well,” she said at last. “How much do you 
want — to be bought out?” 

Pratt laughed. 

‘ ‘ I thought that would be the end of it !” he remarked. 
“Yes— I thought so!” 

“Name your price!” said Nesta. 

“Miss Mallathorpe!’ answered Pratt, bending for- 
ward and speaking with a new earnestness. “Just lis- 
ten to me. It’s no good. I’m not to be bought out. 
Your mother tried that game with me before. She of- 
fered me first five, then ten thousand pounds — cash down 


164 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

— for that document, when she came to see me at my 
rooms. I dare say she’d have gone to twenty thousand 
— and found the money there and then. But I said no 
then — and I say no to you! I’m not to be purchased 
in that way. I’ve my own ideas, my own plans, my 
own ambitions, my own — hopes. It’s not any use at 
all for you to dangle your money before me. But — 
I’U suggest something else — that you can do.” 

Nesta made no answer. She continued to look stead- 
ily at the man who evidently had her mother in his 
power, and Pratt, who was watching her intently, went 
on speaking quietly but with some intensity of tone. 

“You can do this,” he said. “To start with — and 
it’ll go a long way — just try and think better of me. 
I told you, you don’t understand me. Try to! I’m 
not a bad lot. I’ve great abilities. I’m a hard worker. 
Eldrick & Pascoe could tell you that I’m scrupulously 
honest in money matters. You’ll see that I’ll look after 
your mother’s affairs in a fashion that’ll commend it- 
self to any firm of auditors and accountants who may 
look into my accounts every year. I’m only taking the 
salary from her that I was to have had for the steward- 
ship. So — why not leave it at that ? Let things be ! 
Perhaps — in time you’ll come to see that — I’m to be 
trusted. ’ ’ 

“How can I trust a man who deliberately tells me 
that he holds a secret and a document over a woman’s 
head?” demanded Nesta. “You’ve admitted a previous 
hold on my mother. You say you’re in possession of 
a secret that would ruin her — quite apart from recent 
events. Is that honest?” 


1>RATT OFFERS A HAND 165 

“It was none of my seeking,” retorted Pratt. “I 
gained the knowledge by accident.” 

“You’re giving yourself away,” said Nesta. “Or 
you’ve some mental twist or defect which prevents you 
from seeing things straight. It’s not how you got your 
knowledge, but the use you’re making of it that’s the 
important thing! You’re using it to force my mother 


‘ ‘ Excuse me 1 ” interrupted Pratt with a queer smile. 
“It’s you who don’t see things straight. I’m using my 
knowledge to protect — all of you. Let your mind go 
back to what was said at first — to what I said at first. 
I said that I’d discovered a secret which, if revealed, 
would ruin your mother and injure — you ! So it would 
— more than ever, now. So, you see, in keeping it, I’m 
taking care, not only of her interests, but of — yours ! ’ ’ 

Nesta rose. She realized that there was no more to 
be said — or done. And Pratt rose, too, and looked at 
her almost appealingly. 

“I wish you’d try to see things as I’ve put them. Miss 
Mallathorpe, ” he said. “I don’t bear malice against 
your mother for that scheme she contrived — I’m willing 
to put it clear out of my head. Why not accept things 
as they are ? I ’ll keep that secret for ever — no one shall 
ever know about it. Why not be friends, now — why 
not shake hands?” 

He held out his hand as he spoke. But Nesta drew 
back. 

“No!” she said. “My opinion is just what it was 
when I came here.” 

Before Pratt could move she had turned swiftly to 


166 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
the door and let herself out, and in another minute she 
was amongst the crowds in the street below. For a few 
minutes she walked in the direction of Robson’s offices, 
but when she had nearly reached them, she turned, and 
went deliberately to those of Eldrick & Pascoe. 


CHAPTER XVI 
A HEADQUARTERS CONFERENCE 

By the time she had been admitted to Eldrick’s pri- 
vate room, Nesta had regained her composure; she had 
also had time to think, and her present action was the re- 
sult of at any rate a part of her thoughts. She was 
calm and collected enough when she took the chair which 
the solicitor drew forward. 

‘‘I called on you for two reasons, Mr. Eldrick,’^ she 
said. “First, to thank you for your kindness and 
thoughtfulness at the time of my brother’s death, in 
sending your clerk to help in making the arrangements. ’ ’ 

“Very glad he was of any assistance. Miss Malla- 
thorpe,” answered Eldrick. “I thought, of course, that 
as he had been on the spot, as it were, when the accident 
happened, he could do a few little things ” 

‘ ‘ He was very useful in that way, ’ ’ said Nesta. * ‘ And 
I was very much obliged to him. But the second reason 
for my call is — I want to speak to you about him.” 

“Yes?” responded Eldrick. He had already formed 
some idea as to what was in his visitor’s mind, and he 
was secretly glad of the opportunity of talking to her. 
“About Pratt, eh? What about him, Miss Malla- 
thorpe?” 

“He was with you for some years, I believe?” she 
asked. 

167 


168 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘ ‘ A good many years, ’ ^ answered Eldrick. ‘ ‘ He came 
to us as office-boy, and was head-clerk when he left us.’^ 

“Then you ought to know him — well,” she suggested. 

“As to that,” replied Eldrick, “there are some people 
in this world whom other people never could know well 
— that’s to say, really well. I know Pratt well enough 
for what he was — our clerk. Privately, I know little 
about him. He’s clever — he’s ability — he’s a chap who 
reads a good deal — he’s got ambitions. And I should 
say he is a bit — subtle.” 

“Deceitful?” she asked. 

“I couldn’t say that,” replied Eldrick. “It wouldn’t 
be true if I said so. I think he’s possibilities of strategy 
in him. But so far as we’re concerned, we found him 
hardworking, energetic, truthful, dependable and hon- 
est, and absolutely to be trusted in money matters. He’s 
had many and many a thousand pounds of ours through 
his hands.” 

“I believe you’re unaware that my mother, for some 
reason or other, unknown to me, has put him in charge 
of her affairs?” asked Nesta. 

“Yes — Mr. Collingwood told me so,” answered Eld- 
rick. “So, too, did your own solicitor, Mr. Robson — 
who’s very angry about it.” 

“And you?” she said, putting a direct question. 
‘ ‘ What do you think ? Do please, tell me ! ” 

“It’s difficult to say. Miss Mallathorpe, ” replied Eld- 
rick, with a smile and a shake of the head. “If your 
mother — who, of course, is quite competent to decide for 
herself — wishes to have somebody to look after her af- 
fairs, I don’t see what objection can be taken to her pro- 


A HEADQUARTERS CONFERENCE 169 

cedure. And if she chooses to put Linford Pratt in 
that position — why not? As I tell you, I, as his last 
— and only — employer, am quite convinced of his abil- 
ities and probity. I suppose that as your mother ^s agent, 
he’ll supervise her property, collect money due to her, 
advise her in investments, and so on. Well, I should say 
— personally, mind — he’s quite competent to do all that, 
and that he’ll do it honestly, I should certainly say so.” 

^‘But — why should he do it at all?” asked Nesta. 

Eldrick waved his hands. 

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Now you ask me a very dif- 
ferent question! But — I understand — in fact, I know 
— that Pratt turns out to be a relation of yours — dis- 
tant, but it’s there. Perhaps your mother — who, of 
course, is much better off since your brother’s sad death 
— is desirous of benefiting Pratt — as a relation.” 

“Do you advise anything?” asked Nesta. 

“Well, you know. Miss Mallathorpe, ” replied Eldrick, 
smiling. “I’m not your legal adviser. What about Mr. 
Robson ? ’ ’ 

“Mr. Robson is so very angry about all this — with 
my mother,” said Nesta, “that I don’t even want to 
ask his advice. What I really do want is the advice, 
counsel, of somebody — perhaps more as a friend than as 
a solicitor. ’ ’ 

“Delighted to give you any help I can — either pro- 
fessionally or as a friend,” exclaimed Eldrick. “But 
—let me suggest something. And first of all— is there 
anything — something — in all this that you haven’t told 
to anybody yet ? ’ ’ 

“Yes — much!” she answered. “A great deal!” 


170 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘‘Then,’’ said Eldrick, “let me advise a certain coun- 
sel. Two heads are better than one. Let me ask Mr. 
Collingwood to come here.” 

He was watching his visitor narrowly as he said this, 
and he saw a faint rise of colour in her cheeks. But for 
the moment she did not answer, and Eldrick saw that 
she was thinking. 

“I can get him across from his chambers in a few 
minutes,” he said. “He’s sure to be in just now.” 

“Can I have a few minutes to decide?” asked Nesta. 

Eldrick jumped up. 

“Of course!” he said. “I’ll leave you a while. It 
so happens I want to see my partner. I ’ll go up to his 
room, and return to you presently.” 

Nesta, left alone, gave herself up to deep thought, 
and to a careful reckoning of her position. She was 
longing to confide in some trustworthy person or persons, 
for Pratt’s revelations had plunged her into a maze of 
perplexity. But her difficulties were many. First of all, 
she would have to tell all about the terrible charge 
brought by Pratt against her mother. Then about the 
second which he professed to — or probably did — hold. 
What sort of a secret could it be? And supposing her 
advisers suggested strong measures against Pratt — what 
then, about the danger to her mother, in a twofold direc- 
tion? 

Would it be better, wiser, if she kept all this to her- 
self at present, and waited for events to develop? But 
at the mere thought of that, she shrank, feeling mentally 
and physically afraid — to keep all that knowledge to 
herself, to brood over it in secret, to wonder what it all 


A HEADQUARTERS CONFERENCE 171 

meant, what lay beneath, what might develop, that was 
more than she felt able to hear. And when Eldrick 
came back she looked at him and nodded. 

‘T should like to talk to you and Mr. Collingwood, ’ ^ 
she said quietly. 

Collingwood came across to Eldrick ’s office at once. 
And to these two Nesta unbosomed herself of every de- 
tail that she could remember of her interview with Pratt 
— and as she went on, from one thing to another, she saw 
the men’s faces grow graver and graver, and realized 
that this was a more anxious matter than she had thought. 

“That’s all,” she said in the end. “I don’t think 
I’ve forgotten anything. And even now, I don’t know 
if I’ve done right to tell you all this. But — I don’t 
think I could have faced it — alone ! ’ ’ 

“My dear Miss Mallathorpe ! ” said Eldrick earnestly. 
“You’ve done the wisest thing you probably ever did in 
your life! Now,” he went on, looking at Collingwood, 
“just let us all three realize what is to me a more im- 
portant fact. Nobody would be more astonished than 
Pratt to know that you have taken the wise step you 
have. You agree, Collingwood?” 

“Yes!” answered Collingwood, after a moment’s re- 
flection. ‘ ‘ I think so. ’ ’ 

“Miss Mallathorpe doesn’t quite see what we mean,” 
said Eldrick, turning to Nesta. “We mean that Pratt 
firmly believed, when he told you what he did, that for 
your mother’s sake and your own, you would keep his 
communication a dead secret. He firmly believed that 
you would never dare to tell anybody what he told you. 
Most people — in your position — wouldn’t have told. 


172 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM - 

They’d have let the secret eat their lives out. You’re 
a wise and a sensible young woman 1 And the thing is — 
we must let Pratt remain under the impression that you 
are keeping your knowledge to yourself. Let him con- 
tinue to believe that you’ll remain silent under fear. 
And let us meet his secret policy with a secret strategy 
of our own ! ’ ’ 

Again he glanced at Collingwood, and again Colling- 
wood nodded assent. 

‘‘Now,” continued Eldrick, “just let us consider mat- 
ters for a few minutes from the position which has newly 
arisen. To begin with. Pratt’s account of your moth- 
er’s dealings about the foot-bridge is a very clever and 
plausible one. I can see quite well that it has caused 
you great pain; so before I go any further, just let me 
say this to you — don’t you attach one word of import- 
ance to it!” 

Nesta uttered a heartfelt cry of relief. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “If you knew how thankful 
I should be to know that it’s all lies — that he was lying! 
Can I really think that — after what I saw ? ’ ’ 

“I won’t ask you to think that he’s telling lies — just 
now,” answered Eldrick, with a glance at Collingwood, 
“but I’ll ask you to believe that your mother could put 
a totally different aspect and complexion on all her ac- 
tions and words in connection with the entire affair. My 
impression, of course, ’ ’ he went on, with something very 
like a wink at Collingwood, “is that Mrs. Mallathorpe, 
when she wrote that letter to Pratt, intended to have the 
bridge mended first thing next morning, and that some- 
thing prevented that being done, and that when she was 


A HEADQUARTERS CONFERENCE 17S 

seen about the shrubberies in the afternoon, she was on 
her way to meet Pratt before he could reach the danger- 
ous point, so that she could warn him. What do you say, 
Collingwood ? ’ ’ 

“I should say,” answered Collingwood, regarding the 
solicitor earnestly, and speaking with great gravity of 
manner, “that that would make an admirable line of 
defence to any charge which Pratt was wicked enough 
to prefer.” 

“You don’t think my mother meant — meant to ” 

exclaimed Nesta, eagerly turning from one man to the 
other. “You— don’t?” 

“There is no evidence worth twopence against your 
mother!” replied Eldrick soothingly. “Put everything 
that Pratt has said against her clear out of your mind. 
Put all recent events out of your mind! Don’t inter- 
fere with Pratt— just now. The thing to be done about 
Pratt is this — and it’s the only thing. We must find 
out — exactly, as secretly as possible — what this secret 
is of which he speaks. What is this hold on Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe? What is this document to which he refers? 
In other words, we must work back to some point which 
at present we can’t see. At least, I can’t see it. But 
— we may discover it. What do you say, Colling- 
wood ? ’ ’ 

“I agree entirely,” answered Collingwood. “Let 
Pratt rest in his fancied security. The thing is, cer- 
tainly, to go back. But — to what point?” 

“That we must consider later,” said Eldrick. “Now 
— for the present. Miss Mallathorpe, — ^you are, I sup^ 
pose, going back home ? ’ ’ 


174j the TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

“Yes, at once,’’ answered Nesta. “I have my car at 
the Crown Hotel/’ 

“I should just like to know something,” continued 
Eldrick again, looking at Collingwood as if for approval. 
“That is — Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s present disposition to- 
wards affairs in general and Pratt in particular. Miss 
Mallathorpe! — just do something which I will now sug- 
gest to you. When you reach home, see your mother — 
she is still, I understand, an invalid, though evidently 
able to transact business. Just approach her gently 
and kindly, and tell her that you are a little — should 
we say uncomfortable ? — about certain business arrange- 
ments which you hear she has made with Mr. Pratt, and 
ask her, if she won’t talk them over with you, and give 
you her full confidence. It’s now half-past twelve,” 
continued Eldrick, looking at his watch. “You’ll be 
home before lunch. See your mother early in the after- 
noon, and then telephone, briefly, the result to me, here, 
at four 0 ’clock. Then — Mr. Collingwood and I will have 
a consultation.” 

He motioned Collingwood to remain where he was, 
and himself saw Nesta down to the street. When he 
came back to his room he shook his head at the young 
barrister. 

‘ ‘ Collingwood I ” he said. ^ ‘ There ’s some dreadful 
business afloat in all this! And it’s all the worse be- 
cause of the fashion in which Pratt talked to that girl. 
She’s evidently a very good memory — she narrated that 
conversation clearly and fully. Pratt must be very sure 
of his hand if he showed her his cards in that way — 
his very confidence in himself shows what a subtle net- 


A HEADQUARTERS CONFERENCE 175 
work he^s either made or is making. I question if he’d 
very much care if he knew that we know. But he 
mustn’t know that — ^yet. We must reply to his mine 
with a counter-mine!” 

“What do you think of Pratt’s charge against Mrs. 
Mallathorpe ? ” asked Collingwood. 

Eldrick made a wry face. 

“Looks bad! — very, very bad, Collingwood!” he 
answered. “Art and scheme of a desperate woman, of 
course. But — we mustn’t let her daughter think we be- 
lieve it. Let her stick to the suggestion I made — which, 
as you remarked, would certainly make a very good line 
of defence, supposing Pratt even did accuse her. But 
now — what on earth is this document that’s been men- 
tioned — this paper of which Pratt has possession? Has 
Mrs. Mallathorpe at some time committed forgery — or 
bigamy — or — what is it? One thing’s sure, however — 
we’ve got to work quietly. We mustn’t let Pratt know 
that we’re working. I hope he doesn’t know that Miss 
Mallathorpe came here. Will you come back about four 
and hear what message she sends me? After that, we 
could consult.” 

Collingwood went away to his chambers. He was 
much occupied just then, and had little time to think of 
anything but the work in hand. But as he ate his lunch 
at the club which he had joined on settling in Barford, 
he tried to get at some notion of the state of things, and 
once more his mind reverted to the time of his grand- 
father’s death, and his own suspicions about Pratt at 
that period. Clearly that was a point to which they 
must hark back — ^he himself must make more inquiries 


176 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

about the circumstances of Antony Bartle’s last hours. 
For this affair would not have to rest where it was — it 
was intolerable that Nesta Mallathorpe should in any 
way be under Pratt’s power. He went back to Eldrick 
at four o’clock with a suggestion or two in his mind. 
And at the sight of him Eldrick shook his head. 

‘T’ve had that telephone message from Normandale,” 
he said, ^‘five minutes ago. Pretty much what I ex- 
pected — at this juncture, anyway. Mrs. Mallathorpe 
absolutely declines to talk business with even her daugh- 
ter at present — and earnestly desires that Mr. Linford 
Pratt may be left alone.” 

‘‘Well?” asked Collingwood after a pause. “What 
now ? ’ ’ 

“We must do what we can — secretly, privately, for 
the daughter’s sake,” said Eldrick. “I confess I don’t 
quite see a beginning, but ” 

Just then the private door opened, and Pascoe, a some- 
what lackadaisical-mannered man, who always looked 
half-asleep, and was in reality remarkably wide-awake, 
lounged in, nodded to Collingwood, and threw a news- 
paper in front of his partner. 

“I say, Eldrick,” he drawled, as he removed a newly- 
lighted cigar from his lips. “There’s an advertisement 
here which seems to refer to that precious protege of 
yours, who left you with such scant ceremony. Same 
name, anyhow!” 

Eldrick snatched up the paper, glanced at it and read 
a few words aloud. 

“Information Wanted about James Parrawhite, at 
one time in practice as a solicitor.” 


CHAPTER XVII 

ADVERTISEMENT 

Eldrick looked up at his partner with a sharp, con- 
firmatory glance. 

‘ ‘ That ’s our Parrawhite, of course ! ” he said. ‘ ‘ Who ’s 
after him, now?’^ And he went on to read the rest of 
the advertisement, murmuring its phraseology half- 
aloud: “ ^in practice as a solicitor at Nottingham and 
who left that town six years ago. If the said James 
Parrawhite will communicate with the undersigned he 
will hear something greatly to his advantage. Any per- 
son able to give information as to his whereabouts will 
be suitably rewarded. Apply to Halstead & Byner, 56b, 
St. Martin’s Chambers, London, W.C.’ Um! — Pascoe, 
hand over that Law List.” 

Collingwood looked on in silence while Eldrick turned 
over the pages of the big book which his partner took 
down from a shelf. He wondered at Eldrick ’s apparent 
and almost eager interest. 

‘‘Halstead & Byner are not solicitors,” announced 
Eldrick presently. “They must be inquir}' agents or 
something of that sort. Anyway, I’ll write to them, 
Pascoe, at once. ’ ’ 

“You don’t know where the fellow is,” said Pascoe. 
“What’s the good?” 

“No — but we know where he last was,” retorted Eld- 
177 


178 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
rick. He turned to Collingwood as the junior partner 
sauntered out of the room. ‘‘Rather odd that Pascoe 
should draw my attention to that just now/^ he re- 
marked. ‘ ‘ This man Parrawhite was, in a certain sense, 
mixed up with Pratt — at least, Pratt and I are the only 
two people who know the secret of Parrawhite ’s disap- 
pearance from these offices. That was just about the 
time of your grandfather’s death.” 

Collingwood immediately became attentive. His first 
suspicions of Pratt were formed at the time of which 
Eldrick spoke, and any reference to events contemporary 
excited his interest. 

“Who was or is — this man you’re talking of?” he 
asked. 

“Bad lot — very !” answered Eldrick, shaking his head. 
“He and I were articled together, at the same time, to 
the same people: we saw a lot of each other as fellow 
articled clerks. He afterwards practised in Notting- 
ham, and he held some good appointments. But he’d 
a perfect mania for gambling — the turf — and he went 
utterly wrong, and misappropriated clients’ money, and 
in the end he got into prison, and was, of course, struck 
off the rolls. I never heard anything of him for years, 
and then one day, some time ago, he turned up here and 
begged me to give him a job. I did — and I’ll do him 
the credit to say that he earned his money. But — in 
the end, his natural badness broke out. One afternoon 
— I’m careless about some things — I left some money 
lying in this drawer — about forty pounds in notes and 
gold — and next morning Parrawhite never came to busi- 
ness. We’ve never seen or heard of him since.” 


ADVERTISEMENT 179 

^^You mentioned Pratt/’ said Collingwood. 

‘‘Only Pratt and I know — about the money,” replied 
Eldrick. “We kept it secret — I didn’t want Pascoe to 
know I’d been so careless. Pascoe didn’t like Parra- 
white — and he doesn ’t know his record. I only told him 
that Parrawhite was a chap I ’d known in better circum- 
stances and wanted to give a hand to.” 

“You said it was about the time of my grandfather’s 
death?” asked Collingwood. 

“It was just about then — between his death and his 
funeral I should say,” answered Eldrick. “The two 
events are associated in my mind. Anyway, I’d like to 
know what it is that these people want Parrawhite for. 
If it’s money that’s come to him, it’ll be of no advantage 
— it’ll only go where all the rest’s gone.” 

Collingwood lost interest in Parrawhite. Parrawhite 
appeared to have nothing to do with the affairs in which 
he was interested. He sat down and began to tell Eld- 
rick about his own suspicions of Pratt at the time of 
Antony Bartle’s death; of what Jabey Naylor had told 
him about the paper taken from the History of Barford; 
of the lad’s account of the old man’s doings immediately 
afterwards; and of his own proceedings which had led 
him to believe for the time being that his suspicions were 
groundless. 

“But now,” he went on, “a new idea occurs to me. 
Suppose that that paper, found by my grandfather in a 
book which had certainly belonged to the late John Mal- 
lathorpe, was something important relating to Mrs. Mal- 
lathorpe? Suppose that my grandfather brought it 
across here to you? Suppose that finding you out, he 


180 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

showed it to Pratt? As my grandfather died suddenly, 
with nobody but Pratt there, what was there to prevent 
Pratt from appropriating that paper if he saw that it 
would give him a hold over Mrs. Mallathorpe ? We know 
now that he has some document in his possession which 
does give him a hold — may it not be that of which the boy 
Naylor told me ? ’ ’ 

Might be,’^ agreed Eldrick. “But — my opinion is, 
taking things all together, that the paper which Antony 
Bartle found was the one you yourself discovered later — 
the list of books. No — I ’ll tell you what I think. I be- 
lieve that the document which Pratt told Miss Malla- 
thorpe he holds, and to which her mother referred in the 
letter asking Pratt to meet her, is probably — most prob- 
ably! — one which he discovered in searching out his re- 
lationship to Mrs. Mallathorpe. He’s a cute chap — and 
he may have found some document which — well. I’ll tell 
you what it might be — something which would upset the 
rights of Harper Mallathorpe to his uncle’s estates. No 
other relatives came forward, or were heard of, or were 
discoverable when John Mallathorpe was killed in that 
chimney accident; but there may be some — there may 
be one in particular. That’s my notion! — and I intend, 
in the first place, to make a personal search of the par- 
ish registers from which Pratt got his information. He 
may have discovered something there which he’s keeping 
to himself.” 

“You think that is the course to adopt?” asked Col- 
lingwood, after a moment’s reflection. 

“At present — yes,” replied Eldrick. “And while 
I’m making it— I’ll do it myself— we’ll just go on out- 


ADVERTISEMENT 181 

wardly— as if nothing had happened. If I meet Pratt 
— as I shall — I shall not let him see that I know any- 
thing. Do you go on in just the usual way. Go out to 
Normandale Grange now and then— and tell Miss Malla- 
thorpe to think no more of her interview with Pratt un- 
til we’ve something to talk to her about. You talk to her 
about — something else. ’ ’ 

When Collingwood had left him Eldrick laid a tele- 
gram form on his plotting pad, and after a brief inter- 
val of thought wrote out a message addressed to the 
people whose advertisement had attracted Pascoe’s at- 
tention. 

‘‘Halstead & Byner, 56 b, St. Martin’s Chambers, 
London, W.C. 

‘ ‘ I can give you definite information concerning J ames 
Parrawhite if you will send representative to see me 
personally. 

“Charles Eldrick, Eldrick & Pascoe, 

Solicitors, Barford.’’ 

After Eldrick had sent off a clerk with this message 
to the nearest telegraph office, he sat thinking for some 
time. And at the close of his meditations, and after 
some turning over of a diary which lay on his desk, he 
picked up pen and paper, and drafted an advertisement 
of his own. 

“Ten Pounds Reward will be paid to any person 
who can give reliable and useful information as to James 
Parrawhite, who until November last was a clerk in the 


18^ THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
employ of Messrs. Eldrick & Pascoe, Solicitors, Barford, 
and who is believed to have left the town on the evening 
of November 23. — ^Apply to Mr. Charles Eldrick, of the 
above firm. ’ ’ 

“Worth risking ten pounds on — anyway,” muttered 
Eldrick. “Whether these London people will cover it 
or not. Here ! ” he went on, turning to a clerk who had 
just entered the room. “Make three copies of this ad- 
vertisement, and take one to each of the three newspaper 
offices, and tell ’em to put it in their personal column 
tonight. ’ ’ 

He sat musing for some time after he was left alone 
again, and when he at last rose, it was with a shake of 
the head. 

‘ ‘ I wonder if Pratt told me the truth that morning ? ’ ’ 
he said to himself. “Anyway, he’s now being proved 
to be even deeper than I’d ever considered him. Well 
— other folk than Pratt are possessed of pretty good 
wits. ’ ’ 

Before he left the office that evening Eldrick was 
handed a telegram from Messrs. Halstead & Byner, of 
St. Martin’s Chambers, informing him that their Mr. 
Byner would travel to Barford by the first express next 
morning, and would call upon him at eleven o’clock. 

“Then they have some important news for Parra- 
white,” mused Eldrick, as he put the message in his 
pocket and went off to his club. “Inquiry agents don’t 
set off on long journeys at a moment’s notice for a mat- 
ter of a trifling agency. But — where is Parrawhite?” 

He awaited the arrival of Mr. Byner next morning 


183 


ADVERTISEMENT 
with considerable curiosity. And soon after eleven there 
was shown in to him, a smart, well-dressed, alert-looking 
young man, who, having introduced himself as Mr. Ger- 
ald Byner, immediately plunged into business. 

“You can tell me something of James Parrawhite, Mr. 
Eldrick?’^ he began. “We shall be glad — we’ve been 
endeavouring to trace him for some months. It’s odd 
that you didn’t see our advertisement before.” 

“I don’t look at that sort of advertisement,” replied 
Eldrick. “I believe it was by mere accident that my 
partner saw yours yesterday afternoon. But now, a 
question or two first. What are you — inquiry agents?” 

“Just so, sir — inquiry agents — with a touch of pri- 
vate detective business,” answered Mr. Gerald Byner 
with a smile. “We undertake to find people, to watch 
people, to recover lost property, and so on. In this case 
we’re acting for Messrs. Vickers, Marshall & Hebbleton, 
Solicitors, of Cannon Street. They want James Parra- 
white badly.” 

“Why?” asked Eldrick. 

“Because,” replied Byner with a dry laugh, “there’s 
about twenty thousand pounds waiting for him, in their 
hands. ’ ’ 

Eldrick whistled with astonishment. 

“Whew!” he said. “Twenty thousand — for Parra- 
white! My good sir — if that’s so, and if, as you say, 
you’ve been advertising ” 

“Advertising in several papers,” interrupted Byner. 
“Dailies, weeklies, provincials. Never had one reply, 
till your wire.” 

“Then — ^Parrawhite must be dead!” said Eldrick. 


184 


THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

^ ‘ Or — in gaol, under another name. Twenty thousand 
pounds — ^waiting for Parrawhite! If Parrawhite was 
alive, man, or at liberty, he wouldn ’t let twenty thousand 
pence wait five minutes ! I know him ! ” 

'‘What can you tell me, Mr. Eldrick?^' asked the in- 
quiry agent. 

Eldrick told all he knew — concealing nothing. And 
Byner listened silently and eagerly. 

“There’s something strikes me at once,” he said. 
“You say that with him disappeared three or four ten- 
pound notes of yours. Have you the numbers of those 
notes ? ’ ’ 

“I can’t say,” replied Eldrick, doubtfully. “I 
haven ’t, certainly. But — they were paid in to our head- 
clerk, Pratt, and I think he used to enter such things in 
a sort of day-ledger. I’ll get it.” 

He went into the clerks’ office and presently returned 
with an oblong, marble-backed book which he began to 
turn over. 

“This may be what you ask about,” he said at last. 
“Here, under date November 23, are some letters and 
figures which obviously refer to bank-notes. You can 
copy them if you like.” 

“Another question, Mr. Eldrick,” remarked Byner as 
he made a note of the entries. “You say some cheque 
forms were abstracted from a book of yours at the same 
time. Have you ever heard of any of these cheque forms 
being made use of?” 

“Never!” replied Eldrick. 

“No forgery of your name or anything?”* suggested 
the caller. 


ADVERTISEMENT 185 

“No/’ said Eldrick. “There’s been nothing of that 
sort.” 

“I can soon ascertain if these bank-notes have reached 
the Bank of England,” said Byner. “That’s a simple 
matter. Now suppose they haven’t!” 

“Well?” asked Eldrick. 

“You know, of course,” continued Byner, “that it 
doesn’t take long for a Bank of England note, once is- 
sued, to get back to the Bank? You know, too, that it’s 
never issued again. Now if those notes haven’t been pre- 
sented at the Bank — ^where are they ? And if no use has 
been made of your stolen cheques — ^where are they?” 

“Good!” agreed Eldrick. “I see that you ought to 
do well in your special line of business. Now — are you 
going to pursue inquiries for Parrawhite here in Barford, 
after what I ’ve told you ? ’ ’ 

“Certainly!” said Byner. “I came down prepared 
to stop awhile. It’s highly important that this man 
should be found — highly important,” he added smiling, 
“to other people than Parrawhite himself.” 

“In what way?” asked Eldrick. 

“Why,” replied Byner, “if he’s dead — as he may be 
— this money goes to somebody else — a relative. The 
relative would be very glad to hear he is dead! But — 
definite news will be welcome, in any case. Oh, yes, 
now that I ’ve got down here, I shall do my best to trace 
him. You have the address of the woman he lodged with, 
you say. I shall go there first, of course. Then I must 
try to find out what he did with himself in his spare time. 
But, from all you tell me, it’s my impression he’s dead 
— unless, as you say, he’s got into prison again — possibly 


186 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

under another name. It seems impossible that he should 

not have seen our advertisements.” 

“You never advertised in any Yorkshire newspapers?” 
asked Eldrick. 

“No,” said Byner. “Because we’d no knowledge of 
his having come so far North. We advertised in the 
Midland papers. But then, all the London papers, daily 
and weekly, that we used come down to Yorkshire.” 

“ Parrawhite, ” said Eldrick reflectively, “was a big 
newspaper reader. He used to go to the Free Libary 
reading-room a great deal. I begin to think he must cer- 
tainly be dead — or locked up. However, in supplement 
of your endeavours, I did a little work of my own last 
night. There you are!” he went on, picking up the 
local papers and handing them over. “I put that in 
— we ’ll see if any response comes. But now a word, Mr. 
Byner, since you’ve come to me. You have heard me 
mention my late clerk — Pratt?” 

“Yes,” answered Byner. 

“Pratt has left us, and is in business as a sort of 
estate agent in the next street,” coniinued Eldrick. 
“Now I have particular reasons — most particular rea- 
sons! — why Pratt should remain in absolute ignorance 
of your presence in the town. If you should happen 
to come across him — as you may, for though there are 
a quarter of a million of us here, it’s a small place, com- 
pared with London — don ’t let him know your business. ’ ’ 

“I’m not very likely to do that, Mr. Eldrick,” re- 
marked Byner quietly. 

“Aye, but you don’t take my meaning,” said Eldrick 


ADVERTISEMENT 187 

eagerly. “I mean this — it’s just possible that Pratt may 
see that advertisement of yours, and that he may write 
to your firm. In that case, as he’s here, and you’re here, 
your partner would send his letter to you. Don’t deal 
with it — here. Don’t — if you should come across Pratt, 
even let him know your name ! ’ ’ 

‘‘When I’ve a job of this sort,’ replied Byner, “I 
don’t let anybody know my name — except people like 
you. When I register at one of your hotels presently, 
I shall be Mr. Black of London. But — if this Pratt 
wanted to give any information about Parrawhite, he’d 
give it to you, surely, now that you’ve advertised.” 

“No, he wouldn’t!” asserted Eldrick. “Why? Be- 
cause he’s told me all he knows — or says he knows — al- 
ready ! ” 

The inquiry agent looked keenly at the solicitor for a 
moment during which they both kept silence. Then 
Byner smiled. 

“You said — ‘or says he knows,’ ” he remarked. “Do 
you think he didn’t tell the truth about Parrawhite?” 

“I should say — now — it’s quite likely he didn’t,” 
answered Eldrick. “The truth is, I’m making some in- 
quiry myself about Pratt — and I don’t want this to 
interfere with it. You keep me informed of what you 
find out, and I’ll help you all I can while you’re here. 
It may be ” 

A clerk came into the room and looked at his master. 

“Mr. George Pickard, of the Green Man at Whitcliffe, 
sir, ’ ’ he said. 

“Well?” asked Eldrick. 


188 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

“Wants to see you about that advertisement in the 
paper this morning, sir,’’ continued the clerk. 

Eldrick looked at Byner and smiled significantly. 
Then he turned towards the door. 

“Bring Mr. Pickard in,” he said. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE CONFIDING LANDLORD 

The clerk presently ushered in a short, thick-set, round- 
faced man, apparently of thirty to thirty-five years of 
age, whose chief personal characteristics lay in a pair of 
the smallest eyes ever set in a human countenance and a 
mere apology for a nose. But both nose and eyes com- 
bined somehow to communicate an idea of profound in- 
quiry as the round face in which they were placed turned 
from the solicitor to the man from London, and a podgy 
forefinger was lifted to a red forehead. 

‘ ‘ Servant, gentlemen, ’ ^ said the visitor. ‘ ‘ Fine morn- 
ing for the time of year ! ’ ^ 

“Take a chair, Mr. Pickard,’^ replied Eldrick. “Let 
me see — from the Green Man, at Whitcliffe, I believe?” 

“Landlord, sir — had that house a many years,” an- 
swered Pickard, as he took a seat near the wall. ‘ ‘ Seven 
year come next Michaelmas, any road.” 

“Just so — and you want to see me about the adver- 
tisement in this morning ^s paper?” continued Eldrick. 
“What about it — now?” 

The landlord looked at Eldrick and then at Eldrick ’s 
companion. The solicitor understood that look : it 
meant that what his caller had to say was of a private 
nature. 

“It's all right, Mr. Pickard,” he remarked reassur- 
189 


190 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

ingly. '‘This gentleman is here on just the same busi- 
ness — whatever you say will be treated as confidential — 
it’ll go no further. You’ve something to tell about my 
late clerk, James Parrawhite.” 

Pickard, who had been nervously fingering a white 
billycock hat, now put it down on the floor and thrust 
his hands into the pockets of his trousers as if to keep 
them safe while he talked. 

“It’s like this here,” he answered. “When I saw 
that there advertisement in the paper this mornin’, says 
I to my missus, ‘I’ll away,’ I says, ‘an’ see Lawyer Eld- 
rick about that there, this very day!’ ’Cause you see, 
Mr. Eldrick, there is summat as I can tell about yon man 
’at you mention — James Parrawhite. I’ve said nowt 
about it to nobody, up to now, ’cause it were private 
business atween him and me, as it were, but I lost money 
over it, and of course, ten pound is ten pound, gentle- 
men. ’ ’ 

“Quite so,” agreed Eldrick. “And you shall have 
your ten pounds if you can tell anything useful.” 

“I don’t know owt about it’s being useful, sir, nor 
what use is to be made on it,” said Pickard, “but I can 
tell you a bit o’ truth, and you can do what you like wi’ 
what I tell. But,” he went on, lowering his voice and 
glancing at the door by which he had just entered, 
“there’s another name ’at ’ll have to be browt in — pri- 
vate, like. Name, as it so happens, o’ one o’ your clerks 
— t’ head clerk, I’m given to understand — Mr. Pratt.” 

Eldrick showed no sign of surprise. But he continued 
to look significantly at Byner as he turned to the land- 
lord, 


THE CONFIDING LANDLORD 191 

*‘Mr. Pratt has left me/’ he said. “Left me three 
weeks ago. So you needn’t be afraid, Mr. Pickard — say 
anything you like.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know,” remarked Pickard. “It’s not 
oft that I come down in t ’ town, and we don ’t hear much 
Barford news up our way. Well, it’s this here, Mr. 
Eldrick — you know where my place is, of course?” 

Eldrick nodded, and turned to Byner. 

“I’d better explain to you,” he said. “Whitcliffe 
is an outlying part of the town, well up the hills — a 
sort of wayside hamlet with a lot of our famous stone 
quarries in its vicinity. The Green Man, of which our 
friend here is the landlord, is an old-fashioned tavern 
by the roadside — where people are rather fond of drop- 
ping in on a Sunday, I fancy, eh, Mr. Pickard?” 

“You’re right, sir,” replied the landlord. “It makes 
a nice walk out on a Sunday. And it were on a Sun- 
day, too, ’at I got to know this here James Parrawhite 
as you want to know summat about. He began coming 
to my place of a Sunday evenin’, d’ye see, gentlemen? 
— he’d walk across t’ valley up there to Whitcliffe and 
stop an hour or two, enjoyin’ hisself. Well, now, as 
you ’re no doubt well aweer, Mr. Eldrick, he were a reight 
hand at talkin’, were yon Parrawhite — he’d t’ gift o’ t’ 
gab reight enough, and talked well an’ all. And of 
course him an’ me, we hed bits o’ conversation at times, 
’cause he come to t’ house reg’lar and sometimes o’ 
week-nights an’ all. An’ he tell’d me ’at he’d had a 
deal o’ experience i’ racin’ matters — whether it were 
true or not, I couldn’t say, but ” 

“True enough!” said Eldrick. “He had.” 


192 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

'‘Well, so lie said,'’ continued Pickard, ‘'and he was 
alius tellin’ me ’at he could make a pile o’ brass on t’ 
turf if he only had capital. An ’ i ’ t ’ end, he persuaded 
me to start what he called investin’ money with him i’ 
that way — i’ plain language, it meant givin’ him brass 
to put on horses ’at he said was goin’ to win, d’ye under- 
stand ? ’ ’ 

“Perfectly,” replied Eldrick. “You gave him var- 
ious amounts which he was to stake for you.” 

“Just so, sir! And at first,” said Pickard, with a 
shake of the head, “at first I’d no great reason to 
grumble. He cert ’ny wor a good hand at spottin ’ a win- 
ner. But as time went on, I’ t’ greatest difficulty in 
gettin’ a settlement wi’ him, d’ye see? He wor just as 
good a hand at makin’ excuses as he wor at pickin’ out 
winners — ^better, I think! I nivver knew wheer I was 
wi’ him — he’d pay up, and then he’d persuade me to 
go in for another do wi’ t’ brass I’d won, and happen 
we should lose that time, and then of course we had to 
hev another investment to get back what we ’d dropped, 
and so it went on. But t’ end wor this here — last No- 
vember theer wor about fifty to sixty pound o’ mine i’ 
his hands, and I wanted it. I’d a spirit merchant’s 
bill to settle, and I wanted t’ brass badly for that. I 
knew Parrawhite had been paid, d’ye see, by t’ turf 
agent, ’at he betted wi’, and I plagued him to hand t’ 
brass over to me. He made one excuse and then another 
— howsumiwer, it come to that very day you’re talkin’ 
about i’ your advertisement, Mr. Eldrick — the twenty- 
third o’ November ” 

“Stop a minute, Mr. Pickard,” interrupted Eldrick. 


THE CONFIDING LANDLORD 193 

‘‘Now, how do you know — for a certainty — that this 
day you’re going to talk about was the twenty- third of 
November ? ’ ’ 

The landlord, who had removed his hands from his 
pockets, and was now twiddling a pair of fat thumbs 
as he talked, chuckled slyly. 

“For a very good reason,” he answerd. “I had to 
pay that spirit bill I tell’d about just now on t’ twenty- 
fourth, and that I’m going to tell you happened t’ night 
afore t’ twenty-fourth, so of course it were t’ twenty- 
third. D ’ye see ? ” 

‘ ‘ I see, ’ ’ asserted Eldrick. ‘ ‘ That ’ll do ! And now — 
what did happen?” 

“This here,” replied Pickard. “On that night — t’ 
twenty-third November — Parrawhite came into t’ Green 
Man at about, happen, half-past eight. He come into 
t’ little private parlour to me, bold as brass — as indeed, 
he allers wor. ‘Ye’re a nice un!’ I says. ‘I’ve written 
yer three letters durin’ t’ last week, and ye’ve nivver 
answered one o’ ’em!’ ‘I’ve come to answer i’ person,’ 
he says. ‘There’s nobbut one answer I want,’ says I. 
‘Wheer’s my money?’ ‘Now then, be quiet a bit,’ he 
says. ‘You shall have your money before the evening’s 
over,’ he says. ‘Or, if not, as soon as t’ banks is open to- 
morrow mornin’,’ he says. ‘Wheer’s it coomin’ from?’ 
says I. ‘Now, never you mind,’ he says. ‘It’s safe!’ 
‘I don’t believe a word you’re sayin’,’ says I. ‘Ye’re 
hcvin’ me for t’ mug!— that’s about it.’ An’ I went on 
so at him, ’at i’ t’ end he tell’d me ’at he wor presently 
goin’ to meet Pratt, and ’at he could get t’ brass out o’ 
Pratt an’ as much more as ivver he liked to ax for. 


194 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
Well, I don’t believe that theer, and I said so. ^What 
brass has Pratt?’ says I. ‘Pratt’s nowt but a clerk, 
wi’ happen three or four pound a week!’ ‘That’s all 
you know,’ he says. ‘Pratt’s become a gold mine, and 
I’m going to dig in it a bit. What’s it matter to you,’ 
he says, ‘so long as you get your brass ? ’ Well, of course, 
that wor true enough — all ’at I wanted just then were 
to handle my brass. And I tell’d him so. ‘I’ll brek 
thy neck, Parrawhite,’ I says, ‘if thou doesn’t bring 
me that theer money eyther to-night or t’ first thing to- 
morrow — so now ! ’ ‘ Don ’t talk rot 1 ’ he says. ‘ I ’ve told 

you!’ And he had money wi’ him then — ’nough to pay 
for drinks and cigars, any road, and we had a drink 
or two, and a smoke or two, and then he went out, sayin’ 
he wor goin’ to meet Pratt, and he’d be back at my place 
before closin’ time wi’ either t’ cash or what ’ud be as 
good. An’ I waited — and waited after closin’ time, an’ 
all. But I’ve nivver seen Parrawhite from that day to 
this — nor heerd tell on him neither!” 

Eldrick and Byner looked at each other for a moment. 
Then the solicitor spoke — quietly and with a significance 
which the agent understood. 

“Do you want to ask Mr. Pickard any questions?” 
he said. 

Byner nodded and turned to the landlord. 

“Did Parrawhite tell you where he was going to meet 
Pratt?” he asked. 

“He did,” replied Pickard. “Near Pratt’s lodgin’ 
place.” 

“Did — or does — Pratt live near you, then?” 

“Closish by — ^happen ten minutes’ walk. There’s a 


THE CONFIDING LANDLORD 195 
few 0 ^ houses — a sort o’ terrace, like, on t’ edge o’ what 
they call Whitcliffe Moor. Pratt lodged — lodges now 
for all I know to t’ contrary — i’ one o’ them.” 

“Did Parrawhite give you any idea that he was go- 
ing to the house in which Pratt lodged?” 

“No! He were not goin’ to t’ house. I know he 
worn’t. He tell’d me ’at he’d a good idea what time 
Pratt ’ud be home, ’cause he knew where he was that 
evenin’, and he were goin’ to meet him just afore Pratt 
got to his place. I know where he’d meet him.” 

“Where?” asked Byner. “Tell me exactly. It’s im- 
portant. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Pratt ’ud come up fro ’ t ’ town i ’ t ’ tram, ’ ’ answered 
Pickard. “He’d approach this here terrace I tell’d you 
about by a narrow lane that runs off t’ high road. He’d 
meet him there, would Parrawhite. ’ ’ 

“Did you ever ask any question of Pratt about Par- 
rawhite ? ’ ’ 

“No — never! I’d no wish that Pratt should know 
owt about my dealin’s with Parrawhite. When Parra- 
white never come back — why, I kep’ it all to myself, till 
now. ’ ’ 

“What do you think happened to Parrawhite, Mr. 
Pickard?” asked Byner. 

“Gow, I know what I think!” replied Pickard dis- 
gustedly. “I think ’at if he did get any brass out o’ 
Pratt — which is what I know nowt about, and hevvn’t 
much belief in — he went straight away fro’ t’ town — 
vanished! I do know this — he niwer went back to his 
lodgin’s that neet, ’cause I went theer mysen next day 
to inquire.” 


196 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Eldrick pricked up his ears at that. He remembered 
that he had sent Pratt to make inquiry at Parrawhite’s 
lodgings on the morning whereon the money was miss- 
ing. 

‘‘What time of the day — on the twenty-fourth — was 
that, Mr. Pickard?” he asked. 

“Evenin,’ sir,” replied the landlord. “They’d niwer 
seen naught of him since he went out the day before. 
Oh, he did me, did Parrawhite! Of course, I lost mi 
brass — fifty odd pounds ! ’ ’ 

Byner gave Eldrick a glance. 

“I think Mr. Pickard has earned the ten pounds you 
offered,” he said. 

Eldrick took the hint and pulled out his cheque-book. 

“Of course, you’re to keep all this private — strictly 
private, Mr. Pickard,” he said as he wrote. “Not a 
word to a soul ! ’ ’ 

“Just as you order, sir,” agreed Pickard. “I’ll say 
nowt — to nobody.” 

“And — perhaps tomorrow — perhaps this afternoon — 
you’ll see me at the Green Man,** remarked Byner. “I 
shall just drop in, you know. You needn’t know me — 
if there’s anybody about.” 

“All right, sir — I understand,” said Pickard. 

‘ ‘ Quiet ’s the w^ord — what ? Very good — much obliged 
to you, gentlemen.” 

When the landlord had gone Eldrick motioned Byner 
to pick up his hat. “Come across the street with me,” 
he said. “I want us to have a consultation with a friend 
of mine, a barrister, Mr. Collingwood. For this matter 


THE CONFIDING LANDLORD 197 

is assuming a very queer aspect, and we can’t move too 
warily, nor consider all the features too thoroughly.” 

Collingwood listened with deep interest to Eldrick’s 
account of the morning’s events. And once again he 
was struck by the fact that all these various happenings 
in connection with Pratt, and now with Parrawhite, took 
place at the time of Antony Bartle’s death, and he said 
so. 

^ ‘ True enough ! ’ ’ agreed Eldrick. 

‘‘And once more,” pointed out Collingwood. “We’re 
hearing of a hold ! Pratt claims to have a hold on Mrs. 
Mallathorpe — now it turns out that Parrawhite boasted 
of a hold on Pratt. Suppose all these things have a 
common origin? Suppose the hold which Parrawhite 
had — or has — on Pratt is part and parcel of the hold 
which Pratt has on Mrs. Mallathorpe? In that case — 
or eases — what is the best thing to do?” 

“Will you gentlemen allow me to suggest something?” 
said Byner. “Very well — find Parrawhite! Of all the 
people concerned in this, Parrawhite, from your account 
of him, anyway, Mr. Eldrick, is the likeliest person to 
extract the truth from.” 

“There’s a great deal in that suggestion,” said Eld- 
rick. “Do you know what I think?” he went on, turn- 
ing to Collingwood. “Mr. Byner tells me he means to 
stay here until he has come across some satisfactory news 
of Parrawhite or solved the mystery of his disappearance. 
Well, now that we’ve found that there is some ground 
for believing that Parrawhite was in some fashion mixed 
up with Pratt about that time, why not place the whole 


19S THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

thing in Mr. Byner ’s hands — let him in any case see what 
he can do about the Parrawhit e-Pratt business of Novem- 
ber twenty-third, eh ? ” 

take it,” answered Collingwood, looking at the in- 
quiry agent, “that Mr. Byner having heard what he has, 
would do that quite apart from us?” 

“Yes,” said Byner. “Now that IVe heard what 
Pickard had to say, I certainly shall follow that up.” 

“ I am following out something of my own, ’ ’ said Col- 
lingwood, turning to Eldrick. “I shall know more by 
this time tomorrow. Let us have a conference here — 
at noon.” 

They separated on that understanding, and Byner 
went his own ways. His first proceeding was to visit, 
one after another, the Barford newspaper offices, and 
to order the insertion in large type, and immediately, 
of the Halstead-Byner advertisement for news of Par- 
rawhite. His second was to seek the General Post Office, 
where he wrote out and dispatched a message to his 
partner in London. That message was in cypher — trans- 
lated into English, it read as follows: — 

“If person named Pratt sends any communication to 
us re Parrawhite, on no account let him know I am in 
Barford, but forward whatever he sends to me at once, 
addressed to H. D. Black, Central Station Hotel.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE EYE-WITNESS 

When Collingwood said that he was following out 
something of his own, he was thinking of an interesting 
discovery which he had made. It was one which might 
have no significance in relation to the present perplexities 
— on the other hand, out of it might come a good deal 
of illumination. Briefly, it was that on the evening be- 
fore this consultation with Eldrick & Byner, he had 
found out that he was living in the house of a man who 
had actually witnessed the famous catastrophe at Malla- 
thorpe’s Mill, whereby John Mallathorpe, his manager, 
and his cashier, together with some other bystanders, 
had lost their lives. 

On settling down in Barford, Collingwood had spent 
a couple of weeks in looking about him for comfortable 
rooms of a sort that appealed to his love of quiet and 
retirement. He had found them at last in an old house 
on the outskirts of the town — a fine old stone house, once 
a farmstead, set in a large garden, and tenanted by a 
middle-aged couple, who having far more room than they 
needed for themselves, had no objection to letting part 
of it to a business gentleman. Collingwood fell in love 
with this place as soon as he saw it. The rooms were 
large and full of delightful nooks and corners ; the gar- 

199 


200 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

den was rich in old trees; from it there were fine views 
of the valley beneath, and the heather-clad hills in the 
distance; within two miles of the town and easily ap- 
proached by a convenient tram-route, it was yet quite 
out in the country. 

He was just as much set up by his landlady — a com- 
fortable, middle-aged woman, who fostered true York- 
shire notions about breakfast, and knew how to cook a 
good dinner at night. With her Collingwood had soon 
come to terms, and to his new abode had transferred a 
quantity of books and pictures from London. He soon 
became acquainted with the domestic menage. There 
was the landlady herself, Mrs. Cobcroft, who, having no 
children of her own, had adopted a niece, now grown up, 
and a teacher in an adjacent elementary school: there 
was a strapping, rosy-cheeked servant-maid, whose dia- 
lect was too broad for the lodger to understand more than 
a few words of it ; finally there was Mr. Cobcroft, a mild- 
mannered, quiet man who disappeared early in the morn- 
ing, and was sometimes seen by Collingwood returning 
home in the evening. 

Lately, with the advancing spring, this unobtrusive 
individual was seen about the garden at the end of the 
day: Collingwood had so seen him on the evening before 
the talk with Eldrick and Byner, busied in setting seeds 
in the fiower-beds. And he had asked Mrs. Cobcroft, 
just then in his sitting-room, if her husband was fond of 
gardening. 

“It’s a nice change for him, sir,” answered the land- 
lady. “He’s kept pretty close at it all day in the office 
yonder at Mallathorpe ’s Mill, and it does him good to 


THE EYE-WITNESS 201 

get a bit o' fresh air at nights, now that the fine weather's 
coming on. That was one reason why we took this old 
place — it’s a deal better air here nor what it is in the 
town." 

'‘So your husband is at Mallathorpe 's Mill, eh ?" asked 
Collingwood. 

“Been there — in the counting-house — ^boy and man, 
over thirty years, sir, ’ ' replied Mrs. Cobcroft. 

“Did he see that terrible affair then — was it two years 
ago?" 

The landlady shook her head and let out a weighty 
sigh. 

“Aye, I should think he did!" she answered. “And 
a nice shock it gave him, too ! — he actually saw that chim- 
ney fall — him and another clerk were looking out o’ the 
counting-house window when it gave way. ’ ’ 

Collingwood said no more then — except to remark that 
such a sight must indeed have been trying to the nerves. 
But for purposes of his own he determined to have a 
talk with Cobcroft, and the next evening, seeing him in 
his garden again, he went out to him and got into con- 
versation, and eventually led up to the subject of Malla- 
thorpe ’s Mill, the new chimney of which could be seen 
from a corner of the garden. 

“Your wife tells me," observed Collingwood, “that 
you were present when the old chimney fell at the mill 
yonder ? ’ ' 

Cobcroft, a quiet, unassuming man, usually of few 
words, looked along the hillside at the new chimney, and 
nodded his head. A curious, far-away look came into his 
eyes. 


20^ THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

was, sir!’^ he said. ^‘And I hope I may never see 
aught o’ that sort again, as long as ever I live. It was 
one 0 ’ those things a man can never forget ! ’ ’ 

“Don’t talk about it if you don’t want to,” remarked 
Collingwood. “But I’ve heard so much about that af- 
fair that ” 

“Oh, I don’t mind talking about it,” replied Cob- 
croft. He leaned over the fence of his garden, still 
gazing at the mill in the distance. “There were others 
that saw it, of course: lots of ’em. But I was close at 
hand — our office was filled with the dust in a few sec- 
onds.” 

“It was a sudden affair?” asked Collingwood. 

“It was one of those affairs,” answered Cobcroft 
slowly, “that some folk had been expecting for a long 
time — only nobody had the sense to see that it might hap- 
pen at some unexpected minute. It was a very old chim- 
ney. It looked all right — stood plumb, and all that. 
But Mr. Mallathorpe — my old master, Mr. John Malla- 
thorpe, I ’m talking of — he got an idea from two or three 
little things, d’ye see, that it wasn’t as safe as it ought 
to be. And he got a couple of these professional steeple- 
jacks to examine it. They made a thorough examination, 
too — so far as one could tell by what they did. They’d 
been at the job several days when the accident happened. 
One of ’em had only just come down when the chimney 
fell. Mr. Mallathorpe, himself, and his manager, and 
his cashier, had just stepped out of the counting-house 
and crossed the yard to hear what this man had got to 
say when — down it came ! Not the slightest warning at 
the time. It just — collapsed ! ’ ’ 


THE EYE-WITNESS 203 

^‘You saw the actual collapse?” asked Collingwood. 

“Aye — didn’t I?” exclaimed Cobcroft. “Another 
man and myself were looking out of the office window, 
right opposite. It fell in the queerest way — like this,” 
he went on, holding up his garden-rake. “Supposing 
this shaft was the chimney — standing straight up. As 
we looked we saw it suddenly bulge out, on all sides — 
it was a square chimney, same size all the way up till 
you got to the cornice at the top — bulge out, d’ye see, 
just about half-way up — simultaneous, like. Then — 
down it came with a roar that they heard over half the 
town ! 0 ’ course, there were some two or three thou- 

sands of tons of stuff in that chimney — and when the 
dust was cleared a bit there it was in one great heap, 
right across the yard. And it was a good job,” con- 
cluded Cobcroft, reflectively, “that it fell straight — 
collapsed in itself, as you might say — for if it had fallen 
slanting either way, it ’ud ha’ smashed right through 
some of the sheds, and there ’d ha’ been a terrible loss of 
life.” 

“Mr. John Mallathorpe was killed on the spot, I be- 
lieve?” suggested Collingwood. 

“Aye — and Gaukrodger, and Marshall, and the steeple- 
jack that had just come down, and another or two,” said 
Cobcroft. “They’d no chance — they were standing in 
a group at the very foot, talking. They were all killed 
there and then — instantaneous. Some others were struck 
and injured — one or two died. Yes, sir, — I’m not very 
like to forget that ! ’ ’ 

“A terrible experience!” agreed Collingwood. “It 
would naturally fix itself on your memory.” 


204 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

“Aye — my memory’s very keen about it,” said Cob- 
croft. “I remember every detail of that morning. 
And,” he continued, showing a desire to become remin- 
iscent, “there was something happened that morning, 
before the accident, that I’ve oft thought over and has 
oft puzzled me. I ’ve never said aught to anybody about 
it, because we Yorkshiremen we’re not given to talking 
about affairs that don’t concern us, and after all, it was 
none o’ mine! But you’re a law gentleman, and I dare 
say you get things told to you in confidence now and then, 
and, of course, this is between you and me. I’ll not 
deny that I have oft thought that I would like to tell 
it to a lawyer of some sort, and find out how it struck 
him. ’ ’ 

“Anything that you like to tell me, Mr. Cobcroft, I 
shall treat as a matter of confidence — until you tell me 
it’s no longer a secret,” answered Collingwood. 

“Why,” continued Cobcroft, “it isn’t what you 
rightly would call a secret — though I don’t think any- 
body knows aught about it but myself! It was just 
this — and it may be there ’s naught in it but a mere fancy 
o’ mine. That morning, before the accident happened, 
I was in and out of the private office a good deal — car- 
rying in and out letters, and account books, and so on. 
Mr. John Mallathorpe ’s private office, yell understand, 
sir, opened out of our counting-house — as it does still — 
the present manager, Mr. Horsfall, has it, just as it was. 
WeU, now, on one occasion, when I went in there, to take 
a ledger back to the safe, Mr. Mallathorpe had his man- 
ager and cashier, Gaukrodger and Marshall in with him. 
Mr. Mallathorpe, he always used a stand-up desk to write 


THE EYE-WITNESS 205 

at — never wrote sitting down, though he had a big desk 
in the middle of the room that he used to sit at to look 
over accounts or talk to people. Now when I went in, 
he and Gaukrodger and Marshall were all at this stand-up 
desk — in the window-place — and they were signing some 
papers. At least Gaukrodger had just signed a paper, 
and Marshall was taking the pen from him. ‘Sign there, 
Marshall,’ says Mr. Mallathorpe. And then he went on, 
‘Now we’ll sign this other — it’s well to have these things 
in duplicate, in case one gets lost.’ And then — well, 
then, I went out, and — why, that was all.” 

“You’ve some idea in your mind about that,” said 
Collingwood, who had watched Cobcroft closely as he 
talked. “What is it?” 

Cobcroft smiled — and looked round as if to ascertain 
that they were alone. “Why!” he answered in a low 
voice. “I’ll tell you what I did wonder — some time 
afterwards. I dare say you’re aware — it was all in the 
papers — that Mr. John Mallathorpe died intestate?” 

“Yes,” asserted Collingwood. “I know that.” 

“I’ve oft wondered,” continued Cobcroft, “if that 
could ha’ been his will that they were signing! But 
then I reflected a bit on matters. And there were two 
or three things that made me say naught at all — not a 
word. First of all, I considered it a very unlikely thing 
that a rich man like Mr. John Mallathorpe would make 
a will for himself. Second — I remembered that very 
soon after I’d been in his private office Marshall came 
out into the counting-house and gave the office lad a 
lot of letters and documents to take to the post — some 
of ’em big envelopes — and I thought that what I ’d seen 


a06 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

signed was some agreement or other that was in one of 
them. And third — and most important — no will was 
ever found in any of Mr. John Mallathorpe ’s drawers 
or safes or anywhere, though they turned things upside 
down at the office, and, I heard, at his house as well. 
Of course, you see, sir, supposing that to have been a 
will — why, the only two men who could possibly have 
proved it was were dead and gone! They were killed 
with him. And of course, the young people, the nephew 
and niece, they came in for everything — so there was an 
end of it. But — IVe oft wondered what those papers 
were. One thing is certain, anyway I ’ ^ concluded Cob- 
croft, with a grim laugh, “when those three signed ’em, 
they were picking up their pens for the last time ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ How long was it — after you saw the signing of those 
papers — that the accident occurred?” asked Colling- 
wood. 

“It ’ud be twelve or fifteen minutes, as near as I can 
recollect,” replied Cobcroft. “A few minutes after I’d 
left the private office, Gaukrodger came out of it, alone, 
and stood at the door leading into the yard, looking up 
at the chimney. The steeple-jack was just coming down, 
and his mate was waiting for him at the bottom. Gauk- 
rodger turned back to the private office and called Mr. 
Mallathorpe out. All three of ’em, Mallathorpe, Gauk- 
rodger, Marshall, went out and walked across the yard 
to the chimney foot. They stood there talking a bit— - 
and then — down it came 1 ’ ’ 

Collingwood thought matters over. Supposing that 
the document which Cobcroft spoke of as being in process 


THE EYE-WITNESS 207 

of execution before him were indeed duplicate copies of 
a will. What could have been done with them, in the 
few minutes which elapsed between the signing and the 
catastrophe to the chimney ? It was scarcely likely that 
John Mallathorpe would have sent them away by post. 
If they had been deposited in his own pocket, they would 
have been found when his clothing was removed and ex- 
amined. If they were in the private office when the 
three men left it 

‘‘You’re sure the drawers, safe and so on in Mr. Mal- 
lathorpe ’s room were thoroughly searched — after his 
death?” he asked. 

“I should think they were!” answered Cobcroft la- 
conically. “I helped at that, myself. There wasn’t 
as much as an old invoice that was not well fingered and 
turned over. No ! — I came to the conclusion that what 
I’d seen signed was some contract or something — sent 
off there and then by the lad to post.” 

Collingwood made no further remark and asked no 
more questions. But he thought long and seriously that 
night, and he came to certain conclusions. First : what 
Cobcroft had seen signed was John Mallathorpe ’s will. 
Second : John Mallathorpe had made it himself and had 
taken the unusual course of making a duplicate copy. 
Third : John Mallathorpe had probably slipped the copy 
into the History of Barford which was in his private 
office when he went out to speak to the steeple- jack. 
Fourth: that copy had come into Linford Pratt’s hands 
through Antony Bartle. 

And now arose two big questions. What were the 


208 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

terms of that will? And — where was the duplicate 
copy? He was still putting these to himself when noon 
of the next day came and brought Eldrick and Byner 
for the promised serious consultation. 


1 


CHAPTER XX 


THE OREEN MAN 

Byner, in taking his firm’s advertisement for Parra- 
white to the three Barford newspaper offices, had done 
so with a special design — he wanted Pratt to see that a 
serious wish to discover Parrawhite was alive in more 
quarters than one. He knew that Pratt was almost cer- 
tain to see Eldrick’s advertisement in his own name; now 
he wanted Pratt to see another advertisement of the 
same nature in another name. Already he had some 
suspicion that Pratt had not told Eldrick the truth about 
Parrawhite, and that nothing would suit him so well as 
that Parrawhite should never be heard of or mentioned 
again: now he wished Pratt to learn that Parrawhite 
was much wanted, and was likely to be much mentioned 
— ^wherefore the supplementary advertisements with Hal- 
stead & Byner ’s name attached. It was extremely un- 
likely that Pratt could fail to see those advertisements. 

There were three newspapers in Barford : one a morn- 
ing journal of large circulation throughout the county; 
the other two, evening journals, which usually appeared 
in three or four editions. As Byner stipulated for large 
type, and a prominent position, in the personal column 
of each, it was scarcely within the bounds of probability 
that a townsman like Pratt would miss seeing the ad- 
209 


SIO THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

vertisement. Most likely he would see it in all three 
newspapers. And if he had also seen Eldrick’s similar 
advertisement, he would begin to think, and then — 

‘‘Why, then,” mused Byner, ruminating on his de- 
sign, “then we will see what he will do !” 

Meanwhile, there was something he himself wanted to 
do, and on the morning following his arrival in the town, 
he set out to do it. Byner had been much struck by 
Pickard’s account of his dealings with James Parra- 
white on the evening which appeared to be the very last 
wherein Parrawhite was ever seen. He had watched the 
landlord of the Green Man closely as he told his story, 
and had set him down for an honest, if somewhat sly and 
lumpish soul, who was telling a plain tale to the best of 
his ability. Byner believed all the details of that story 
— he even believed that when Parrawhite told Pickard 
that he would find him fifty pounds that evening, or 
early next day, he meant to keep his word. In the cir- 
cumstances — as far as Byner could reckon them up from 
what he had gathered — it would not have paid Par- 
rawhite to do otherwise. Byner put the situation to 
himself in this fashion — Pratt had got hold of some se- 
cret which was being, or could be made to be, highly 
profitable to him. Parrawhite had discovered this, and 
was in a position to blackmail Pratt. Therefore Parra- 
white would not wish to leave Pratt’s neighbourhood — 
so long as there was money to be got out of Pratt, Par- 
rawhite would stick to him like a leech. But if Parra- 
white was to abide peaceably in Barford, he must pay 
Pickard that little matter of between fifty and sixty 
pounds. Accordingly, in Byner ’s opinion, Parrawhite 


THE GREEN MAN 211 

had every honest intention of returning to the Green 
Man on the evening of the twenty-third of November 
after having seen Pratt. And, in Byner’s further — 
and very seriously considered — opinion, the whole prob- 
lem for solution — possibly involving the solution of other 
and more important problems — was this: Did Parra- 
white meet Pratt that night, and if he did what took 
place between them which prevented Parrawhite from 
returning to Pickard? 

It was in an endeavour to get at some first stage of a 
solution of this problem that Byner, having breakfasted 
at the Central Hotel on his second day in the town, went 
out immediately afterwards, asked his way to Whitcliffe, 
and was directed to an electric tram which started from 
the Town Hall Square, and after running through a 
district of tall warehouses and squat weaving-sheds, be- 
gan a long and steady climb to the heights along the 
town. When he left it, he found himself in a district 
eminently characteristic of that part of the country. 
The tram set him down at a cross-roads on a high ridge 
of land. Beneath him lay Barford, its towers and spires 
and the gables of its tall buildings showing amongst the 
smoke of its many chimneys. All about him lay open 
ground, broken by the numerous stone quarries of which 
Eldrick had spoken, and at a little distance along one 
of the four roads at the intersection of which he stood, 
he saw a few houses and cottages, one of which, taller 
and bigger than the rest, was distinguished by a pole, 
planted in front of its stone porch and bearing a swing- 
ing sign whereon was rudely painted the figure of a 
man in Lincoln green. Byner walked on to this, Qn,' 


212 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
tered a flagged hall, and found himself confronting 
Pickard, who at sight of him, motioned him into a little 
parlour behind the bar. 

^‘Homin’, mister,’^ said he. ^‘You’ll be all right in 
here — there’s nobody about just now, and if my missis 
or any o’ t’ servant lasses sees yer, they’ll tak’ yer for 
a brewer’s traveller, or summat o’ that sort. Come to 
hev a look round, like — what ? ’ ’ 

“I want to have a look at the place where you told us 
Parrawhite was to meet Pratt that night,” replied By- 
ner. ‘T thought you would perhaps be kind enough to 
show me where it is.” 

will, an’ all — wi’ pleasure,” said the landlord, 
“but ye mun hev a drop o’ summat first — try a glass 
o’ our ale,” he went on, with true Yorkshire hospitality. 
“I hev some bitter beer i’ my cellar such as I’ll lay owt 
ye couldn’t get t’ likes on down yonder i’ Barford — no, 
nor i’ London neyther! — I’ll just draw a jug.” 

Byner submitted to this evidence of friendliness, and 
Pickard, after disappearing into a dark archway and 
down some deeply-worn stone steps, came back with a 
foaming jug, the sight of which seemed to give him great 
delight. He gazed admiringly at the liquor which he 
presently poured into two tumblers, and drew his vis- 
itor’s attention to its colour. 

“Reight stuff that, mister — what?” he said. “I nob- 
but tapped that barril two days since, and I’d been 
keepin’ it twelve month, so you’ve come in for it at what 
they call t’ opportune moment. I say!” he went on, 
after pledging Byner and smacking his lips over the ale. 
“I heard summat last night ’at might be useful to you 


THE GREEN MAN 213 

and Lawyer Eldrick — about this here Parra white affair. ’ * 

“Oh!’’ said Byner, at once interested. “What 
now ? ’ ’ 

“You’ll ha’ noticed, as you come along t’ road just 
now, ’at there’s a deal o’ stone quarries i’ this neigh- 
bourhood?” replied Pickard. “Well, now, of course, 
some o’ t’ quarry men comes in here. Last night theer 
wor sev’ral on ’em i’ t’ bar theer, talkin’, and one on 
’em wor readin’ t’ evenin’ newspaper — t’ Barford Dis- 
patch. An’ he read out that theer advertisement about 
Parra white — wi’ your address i’ London at t’ foot on it. 
Well, theer wor nowt said, except summat about adver- 
tisin’ for disappeared folk, but later on, one o’ t’ men, a 
young man, come to me, private like. ‘I say, Pickard,’ 
he says, ‘between you an’ me, worrn’t t’ name o’ that man 
’at used to come in here on a Sunday sometimes, Par- 
ra white? It runs a’ my mind,’ he says, ‘ ’at I’ve heerd 
you call him by that name.’ ‘Well, an’ what if it wor?’ 
I says. ‘Nay, nowt much,’ he says, ‘but I see fro’ t’ 
Dispatch ’at he’s wanted, and I could tell a bit about 
him,’ he says. ‘What could ye tell?’ says I — just like 
that theer. ‘Why,’ he says, ‘this much — one night t’ 
last back-end ” 

“Stop a bit, Mr. Pickard,” interrupted Byner. 
“What does that mean — that term ‘back-end’?” 

“Why, it means t’ end o’ t’ year!” answered the land- 
lord. “What some folks call autumn, d’ye understand? 
‘One night t’ last back-end,’ says this young fellow, ‘I 
wor hengin’ about on t’ quiet at t’ end o’ Stubbs’ Lane,’ 
he says: ‘T’ truth wor,’ he says, ‘I wor waitin’ for a 
word wi’ a young woman ’at lives i’ that terrace at t’ 


^14 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

top 0 ’ Stubbs ’ Lane — she wor goin ’ to come out and meet 
me for half an hour or so. An,’ he says, ‘I see’d that 
theer feller ’at I think I’ve heerd you call Parra white, 
come out o’ Stubbs’ Lane wi’ that lawyer chap ’at lives 
i’ t’ Terrace — Pratt. I know Pratt,’ he says, ‘’cause 
them ’at he works for — Eldricks — once did a bit o ’ law 
business for me. ’ ‘ Where did you see ’em go to, then ? ’ 

says I. ‘I see’d ’em cross t’ road into t’ owd quarry 
ground,’ he says. ‘I see’d ’em plain enough, tho’ they 
didn’t see me — I wor keepin’ snug agen t’ wall — it wor 
a moonlit night, that,’ he says. ‘Well,’ I says, ‘an’ what 
now?’ ‘Why,’ he says, ‘d’yer think I could get owt o’ 
this reward for tollin’ that theer?’ ‘So I thowt pretty 
sharp then, d ’ye see, mister. ‘ I ’ll tell yer what, mi lad, ’ 
I says. ‘ Say nowt to nobody — keep your tongue still — 
and I’ll tell ye tomorrow night what ye can do — I shall 
see a man ’at’s on that job ’tween now and then I says. 
So theer it is,” concluded Pickard, looking hard at By- 
ner. “D’yer think this chap’s evidence ’ud be i’ your 
line?” 

“Decidedly I do!” replied Byner. “Where is he to 
be found ? ” 

“I couldn’t say wheer he lives,” answered the land- 
lord. “But it’ll be somewhere close about; anyway, 
he’ll be in here tonight. Bill Thomson t’ feller’s name 
is — decent young feller enough.” 

“I must contrive to see him, certainly,” said Byner. 
“Well, now, can you show me this Stubbs’ Lane and 
the neighbourhood?” 

“Just step along t’ road a bit and I’ll join you in a 
few o’ minutes,” assented Pickard. “We’d best not be 


THE GREEN MAN 215 

I seen leavin t’ house together, or our folk’ll think it’s a 
; put-up job. Walk forrard a piece.” 

Byner strolled along the road a little way, and leaned 
over a wall until Mr. Pickard, wearing his white billy- 
I cock hat and accompanied by a fine fox-terrier, lounged 
: up with his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. To- 
i; gether they went a little further along. 

; “Now then!” said the landlord, crossing the road 
: towards the entrance of a narrow lane which ran between 
I two high stone walls. “This here is Stubbs’ Lane — so 
called, I believe, ’cause an owd gentleman named similar 
] used to hev a house here ’at’s been pulled down. Ye 
} see, it runs up fro’ this high-road towards yon terrace 
! o’ houses. Folks hereabouts calls that terrace t’ World’s 
I End, ’cause they’re t’ last houses afore ye get on to t’ 

! open moorlands. Now, that night ’at Parrawhite wor 
aimin’ to meet Pratt, it wor i’ this very lane. Pratt, 
when he left t’ tram-car, t’ other side o’ my place, ’ud 
come up t’ road, and up this lane. And it wor at t’ top 
o’ t’ lane ’at Bill Thomson see’d Pratt and Parrawhite 
cross into what Bill called t’ owd quarry ground.” 

“Can we go into that?” asked Byner. 

“Nowt easier!” said Pickard. “It’s a sort of open 
space where t ’ childer goes and plays about : they hev ’n ’t 
worked no stone theer for many a long year — all t ’ stone ’s 
exhausted, like.” 

He led Byner along the lane to its further end, pointed 
out the place where Thomson said he had seen Pratt and 
Parrawhite, and indicated the terrace of houses in which 
Pratt lived. Then he crossed towards the old quarries. 

“Don’t know what they should want to come in 


216 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

here for — unless it wor to talk very confidential,” said 
Pickard. ‘‘But lor bless yer! — it ’ud be quiet enough 
anywheer about this neighbourhood at that time o’ neet. 
However, this is wheer Bill Thomson says he see’d ’em 
come.” 

He led the way amongst the disused quarries, and 
Byner, following, climbed on a mound, now grown over 
with grass and weed, and looked about him. To his town 
eyes the place was something novel. He had never seen 
the like of it before. Gradually he began to understand 
it. The stone had been torn out of the earth, sometimes 
in square pits, sometimes in semi-circular ones, until the 
various veins and strata had become exhausted. Then, 
when men went away, Nature had stepped in to assert 
her rights. All over the despoiled region she had spread 
a new clothing of green. Turf had grown on the flooring 
of the quarries; ivy and bramble had covered the deep 
scars ; bushes had sprung up ; trees were already spring- 
ing. And in one of the worn-out excavations some man 
had planted a kitchen-garden in orderly and formal rows 
and plots. 

‘ ‘ Dangerous place that there ! ’ ’ said Pickard suddenly. 
“ If I ’d known o ’ that, I shouldn ’t ha ’ let my young ’uns 
come to play about here. They might be tummlin’ in 
and drownin’ theirsens! I mun tell my missis to keep 
’em away!” 

Bjmer turned — to find the landlord pointing at the 
old shaft which had gradually become filled with water. 
In the morning sunlight its surface glittered like a plane 
of burnished metal, but when the two men went nearer 


THE GREEN MAN 217 

and gazed at it from its edge, the water was black and 
unfathomable to the eye. 

“Goodish thirty feet o’ water in that there!” sur- 
mised Pickard. “It’s none safe for childer to play 
about — theer’s nowt to protect ’em. Next time I see 
Mestur Shepherd I shall mak’ it my business to tell him 
’at he owt either to drain that watter off or put a fence 
round it.” 

‘ ‘ Is Mr. Shepherd the property-owner 1 ’ ’ asked Byner. 

“Aye! — it’s all his, this land,” answered Pickard. 
He pointed to a low-roofed house set amidst elms and 
chestnuts, some distance off across the moor. “Lives 
tbeer, does Mestur Shepherd — varry well-to-do man, he 
is.” 

“How could that water be drained off?” asked Byner 
with assumed carelessness. 

‘ ‘ Easy enough ! ’ ’ replied Pickard. ‘ ‘ Cut through yon 
edge, and let it run into t’ far quarry there. A couple 
o’ men ’ud do that job in a day.” 

Byner made no further remark. He and Pickard 
strolled back to the Green Man together. And declining 
the landlord’s invitation to step inside and take another 
glass, but promising to see him again very soon, the in- 
quiry agent walked on to the tram-car and rode down 
to Barford to keep his appointment with Eldrick and 
Collingwood at the barrister’s chambers. 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE DIRECT CHARGE 

While Byner was pursuing his investigations in the 
neighbourhood of the Green Man, Collingwood was out 
at Normandale Grange, discussing certain matters with 
Nesta Mallathorpe. He had not only thought long and 
deeply over his conversation with Cobcroft the previous 
evening, but had begun to think about the crucial point 
of the clerk’s story as soon as he spoke in the morning, 
and the result of his meditations was that he rose early, 
intercepted Cobcroft before he started for Mallathorpe ’s 
Mill and asked his permission to re-tell the story to Miss 
Mallathorpe. Cobcroft raised no objection, and when 
Collingwood had been to his chambers and seen his let- 
ters, he chartered a car and rode out to Normandale 
where he told Nesta of what he had learned and of 
his own conclusions. And Nesta, having listened care- 
fully to all he had to tell, put a direct question to him. 

*‘You think this document which Pratt told me he 
holds is my late uncle’s will?” she said. “What do 
you suppose its terms to be?” 

“Frankly — these, or something like these,” replied 
Collingwood. “And I get at my conclusions in this 
way. Your uncle died intestate — consequently, every- 
thing in the shape of real estate came to your brother and 


THE DIRECT CHARGE 219 

everything in personal property to your brother and 
yourself. Now, supposing that the document which 
Pratt boasts of holding is the will, one fact is very cer- 
tain — the property, real or personal, is not disposed of 
in the way in which it became disposed of because of 
John Mallathorpe ’s intestacy. He probably disposed of 
it in quite another fashion. Why do I think that ? Be- 
cause the probability is that Pratt said to your mother, 
*1 have got John Mallathorpe ’s will! It doesn’t leave 
his property to your son and daughter. Therefore, I 
have all of you at my mercy. Make it worth my while, 
or I will bring the will forward.’ Do you see that sit- 
uation ? ’ ’ 

“Then,” replied Nesta, after a moment’s reflection, 
“you do think that my mother was very anxious to get 
that document — -a will — from Pratt?” 

Collingwood knew what she was thinking of — her mind 
was still uneasy about Pratt ’s account of the affair of the 
foot-bridge. But — the matter had to be faced. 

‘ ‘ I think your mother would naturally be very anxious 
to secure such a document,” he said. “You must re- 
member that according to Pratt’s story to you, she tried 
to buy it from him — just as you did yourself, though 
you, of course, had no idea of what it was you wanted 
to buy.” 

“What I wanted to buy,” she answered readily, “was 
necessity from further interference 1 But — is there no 
way of compelling Pratt to give up that document — 
whatever it is ? Can ’t he be made to give it up ? ” 

“A way is may be being made, just now — through an- 
other affair,” replied Collingwood. “At present mat- 


no THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

ters are vague. One couldn’t go to Pratt and demand 
something at which one is, after all, only guessing. 
Your mother, of course, would deny that she knows 
what it is that Pratt holds. But — there is the possi- 
bility of the duplicate to which Cobcroft referred. Now, 
I want to put the question straight to you — supposing 
that duplicate will can be found — and supposing — ^to 
put it plainly — its terms dispossess you of all your con- 
siderable property — what then?” 

“Do you want the exact truth?” she asked. “Well, 
then, I should just welcome anything that cleared up all 
this mystery! What is it at present, this situation, but 
utterly intolerable ? I know that my mother is in Pratt ’s 
power, and likely to remain so as long as ever this goes 
on — probably for life. She will not give me her con- 
fidence. What is more, I am certain that she is giving 
it to Esther Mawson — ^who is most likely hand-in-glove 
with Pratt. Esther Mawson is always with her. I am 
almost sure that she communicates with Pratt through 
Esther Mawson. It is all what I say — intolerable! I 
had rather lose every penny that has come into my hands 
than have this go on.” 

“Answer me a plain question,” said Collingwood. 
“Is your mother fond of money, position — all that sort 
of thing?” 

‘ ‘ She is fond of power ! ’ ’ replied Nesta. ' ‘ It pleased 
her greatly when we came into all this wealth to know 
that she was the virtual administrator. Even if she 
could only do it by collusion with Pratt, she would make 
a fight for all that she — and I — hold. It’s useless to 
deny that. Don’t forget,” she added, looking appeal- 


THE DIRECT CHARGE 221 

ingly at Collingwood, '‘don’t forget that she has known 
what it was to be poor — and if one does come into money 
— I suppose one doesn’t want to lose it again.” 

“Oh, it’s natural enough!” agreed Collingwood. 
“But — if things are as I think, Pratt would be an in- 
cubus, a mill-stone, for ever. Anyway, I came out to tell 
you what I’ve learned, and what I have an idea may be 
the truth, and above all, to get your definite opinion. 
You want the Pratt infiuence out of the way — at any 
cost ? ’ ’ 

“At any cost!” she affirmed. “Even if I have to go 
back to earning my own living! Whatever pleasure in 
life could there be for me, knowing that at the back of 
all this there is that — what?” 

“Pratt!” answered Collingwood. “Pratt! He’s the 
shadow — with his deep schemes. However, as I said — 
there may be — developing at this moment — another way 
of getting at Pratt. Gentlemen like Pratt, born schem- 
ers, invariably forget one very important factor in life — 
the unexpected! Even the cleverest and most subtle 
schemer may have his delicate machinery broken to 
pieces by a chance bit of mere dust getting into it at an 
unexpected turn of the wheels. And to turn to plainer 
language — I’m going back to Barford now to hear what 
another man has to say concerning certain of Pratt’s 
recent movements.” 

Eldrick was already waiting when Collingwood 
reached his chambers : Byner came there a few moments 
later. Within half an hour the barrister had told his 
story of Cobcroft, and the inquiry agent his of his visit 
to the Green Man and the quarries. And the solicitor 


222 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

listened quietly and attentively to both, and in the end 
turned to Collingwood. 

‘‘I’ll withdraw my opinion about the nature of the 
document which Pratt got hold of,” he said. “What 
he’s got is what you think — John Mallathorpe ’s will!” 

“If I may venture an opinion,” remarked Byner, 
‘ ‘ that ’s dead certain ! ’ ’ 

“And now,” continued Eldrick, “we’re faced with a 
nice situation! Don’t either of you forget this fact. 
Not out of willingness on her part, but because she ’s got 
to do it, Mrs. Mallathorpe and Pratt are partners in that 
affair. He’s got the will — but she knows its contents. 
She’ll pay any price to Pratt to keep them from ever 
becoming known or operative. But, as I say, don’t you 
forget something ! ’ ’ 

“What?” asked Collingwood. 

Eldrick tapped the edge of the table, emphasizing his 
words as he spoke them. 

‘ ‘ They can destroy that will whenever they like ! ” he 
said. “And once destroyed, nothing can absolutely 
prove that it ever existed!” 

“The duplicate?” suggested Collingwood. 

“Nothing to give us the faintest idea as to its exis- 
tence!” said Eldrick. 

“We might advertise,” said Collingwood. 

“Lots of advertising was done when John Mallathorpe 
died,” replied the solicitor. “No! — if any person had 
had it in possession, it would have turned up then. It 
may be — probably is — possibly must be — somewhere — 
and may yet come to light. But — there’s another way 


THE DIRECT CHARGE 

of getting at Pratt. Through this Parrawhite affair. 
Pratt most likely had not the least notion that he would 
ever hear of Parrawhite again. He is going to hear of 
Parrawhite again! I am convinced now that Parra- 
white knew something about this, and that Pratt squared 
him and got him away. Aren’t you?” he asked, turn- 
ing to Byner. 

But Bymer smiled quietly and shook his head. 

^‘No!” he answered. ‘‘I am not, Mr. Eldrick.” 

“You’re not?” exclaimed Eldrick, surprised and won- 
dering that anybody could fail to agree with him. 

“Why not, then?” 

“Because,” replied Byner. “I am certain that Pratt 
murdered Parrawhite on the night of November twenty- 
third last. That’s why. He didn’t square him. He 
didn ’t get him away. He killed him 1 ’ ’ 

The effect of this straightforward pronouncement of 
opinion on the two men who heard it was strikingly dif- 
ferent. Collingwood ’s face at once became cold and in- 
scrutable; his lips fixed themselves sternly; his eyes 
looked hard into a problematic future. But Eldrick 
flushed as if a direct accusation had been levelled at 
himself, and he turned on the inquiry agent almost im- 
patiently. 

“Murder!” he exclaimed. “Oh, come! I — really, 
that’s rather a stiff order! I dare say Pratt’s been up 
to all sorts of trickery, and even deviltry — but murder 
is quite another thing. You’re pretty ready to accuse 
him!” 

Byner moved his head in Collingwood ’s direction — 


224 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

and Eldrick turned and looked anxiously at Collingwood, 
who, finding the eyes of both men on him, opened his 
hitherto tight-shut lips. 

think it quite likely!’’ he said. 

Byner laughed softly and looked at the solicitor. 

“Just listen to me a minute or two, Mr. Eldrick,” he 
said. “I’ll sum up my own ideas on this matter, got 
from the various details that have been supplied to me 
since I came to Barford. Just consider my points one 
by one. Let’s take them separately — and see how they 
fit in. 

‘ ‘ 1. Mr. Bartle is seen by his shop-boy to take a cer- 
tain paper from a book which came from the 
late John Mallathorpe ’s office at Mallathorpe 
Mill. He puts that paper in his pocket. 

“2. Immediately afterwards Mr. Bartle goes to your 
office. Nobody is there but Pratt — as far as 
Pratt knows. 

“3. Bartle dies suddenly — after telling Pratt that 
the paper is John Mallathorpe ’s will. Pratt 
steals the will. And the probability is that 
Parrawhite, unknown to Pratt, was in that 
office, and saw him steal it. Why is that prob- 
able ? Because — 

“4. Next night Parrawhite, who is being pressed for 
money by Pickard, tells Pickard that he can 
get it out of Pratt, over whom he has a hold. 
What hold? We can imagine what hold. 
Anyway — 

“5. Parrawhite leaves Pickard to meet Pratt. He 


THE DIRECT CHARGE 225 

did meet Pratt — in Stubbs’ Lane. He was 
seen to go with Pratt into the disused quarry. 
And there, in my opinion, Pratt killed him — 
and disposed of his body. 

‘‘6. What does Pratt do next? He goes to your 
office first thing next morning, and removes 
certain moneys which you say you carelessly 
left in your desk the night before, and tears 
out certain cheque forms from your book. 
When Parrawhite never turns up that morn- 
ing, you — and Pratt — conclude that he’s the 
thief, and that he ’s run away. 

‘^7. If you want some proof of the correctness of 
this last suggestion, you’ll find it in the fact 
that no use has ever been made of those blank 
cheques, and that — in all probability — the 
stolen bank-notes have never reached the Bank 
of England. On that last point I’m making 
inquiry — but my feeling is that Pratt des- 
troyed both cheques and bank-notes when he 
stole them. 

‘‘8. This man Parrawhite out of the way, Pratt has 
a clear field. He ’s got the will. He ’s already 
acquainted Mrs. Mallathorpe with that fact, 
and with the terms of the will — whatever they 
may be. We may be sure, however, that they 
are of such a nature as to make her willing 
to agree to his demands upon her — and, ac- 
cidentally, to go to any lengths — upon which 
we needn’t touch, at present — towards getting 
possession of the will from him. 


2^6 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘^9. And the present situation — from Pratt’s stand- 
point of yesterday — is this. He’s so sure of 
his own safety that he doesn’t mind revealing 
to the daughter that the mother’s in his power. 
Why? Because Pratt, like most men of his 
sort, cannot believe that self-interest isn’t par- 
amount with everybody — it’s beyond him to 
conceive it possible that Miss Mallathorpe 
would do anything that might lose her several 
thousands a year. He argued — ‘So long as I 
hold that will, nobody and nothing can make 
me give it up nor divulge its contents. But 
I can bind one person who benefits by it — 
Miss Mallathorpe, and for the mother’s sake 
I can keep the daughter quiet!’ Well — he 
hasn ’t kept the daughter quiet 1 She — spoke 1 
“10. And last — in all such schemes as Pratt’s, the 
schemer invariably forgets something. Pratt 
forgot that there might arise what actually 
has arisen — ^inquiry for Parrawhite. The 
search for Parrawhite is afoot — and if you 
want to get at Pratt, it will have to be through 
what I firmly believe to be a fact — his murder 
of Parrawhite and his disposal of Parrawhite ’s 
body. 

“That’s all, Mr. Eldrick,” concluded Byner who had 
spoken with much emphasis throughout. “It all seems 
very clear to me, and,” he added, with a glance at Col- 
lingwood, ‘ ‘ I think Mr. Collingwood is inclined to agree 
with most of what I ’ve said. ’ ’ 


THE DIRECT CHARGE 227 

'‘Pretty nearly all — if not all/^ assented Collingwood. 
‘T think you’ve put into clear language precisely what 
I feel. I don’t believe there’s a shadow of doubt that 
Pratt killed Parrawhite! And we can — and must — get 
at him in that way. What do you suggest?” he con- 
tinued, turning to Byner. “You have some idea, of 
course ? ’ ’ 

“First of all,” answered Byner, “we mustn’t arouse 
any suspicion on Pratt’s part. Let us work behind the 
screen. But I have an idea as to how he disposed of 
Parrawhite, and I ’m going to follow it up this very day 
— my first duty, you know, is towards the people who 
want Parrawhite, or proof of his death. I propose 


Just then Collingwood ’s clerk came in with a telegram. 

“Sent on from the Central Hotel, sir,” he answered. 
‘ ‘ They said Mr. Black would be found here. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That ’s mine, ’ ’ said the inquiry agent. ‘ ‘ I left word 
at the hotel that they were to send to your chambers if 
any wire came for me. Allow me.” He opened the 
telegram, looked it over, and waiting until the clerk had 
gone, turned to his companions. “Here’s a message 
from my partner, Mr. Halstead,” he continued. “Lis- 
ten to what he wires : 

“ ‘Wire just received from Murgatroyd, shipping 
agent. Peel Row, Barford. He says Parrawhite left that 
town for America on November 24th last and offers fur- 
ther information. Let me know what to reply!’ ” 

Byner laid the message before Eldrick and Colling- 
wood without further comment. 


CHAPTER XXII 
THE CAT’SPAW 


On the evening of the day whereon Nesta Mallathorpe 
had paid him the visit which had resulted in so much 
plain speech on both sides, Pratt employed his leisure 
in a calm review of the situation. He was by no means 
dissatisfied. It seemed to him that everything was go- 
ing very well for his purposes. He was not at all sorry 
that Nesta had been to see him — far from it. He re- 
gretted nothing that he had said to her. In his de- 
liberate opinion, his own position was much stronger 
when she left him than it was when he opened his office 
door to her. She now knew, said Pratt, with what a 
strong and resourceful man she had to deal : she would 
respect him, and have a better idea of him, now that she 
was aware of his impregnable position. 

Herein Pratt 's innate vanity and his ignorance showed 
themselves. He had little knowledge of modern young 
women, and few ideas about them ; and such ideas as he 
possessed were usually mistaken ones. But one was that 
it is always necessary to keep a firm hand on women — 
let them see and feel your power, said Pratt. He had 
been secretly delighted to acquaint Nesta Mallathorpe 
with his power, to drive it into her that he had the whip 
hand of her mother, and through her mother, of Nesta 
228 


THE CAT’S? AW 229 

herself. He had seen that Nesta was much upset and 
alarmed by what he told her. And though she certainly 
seemed to recover her spirits at the end of the interview, 
and even refused to shake hands with him, he cherished 
the notion that in the war of words he had come off a de- 
cided victor. He did not believe that Nesta would utter 
to any other soul one word of what had passed between 
them : she would be too much afraid of calling down his 
vengeance on her mother. What he did believe was that 
as time went by, and all progressed smoothly, Nesta 
would come to face and accept facts : she would find him 
honest and hardworking in his dealings with Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe (as he fully intended to be, from purely personal 
and selfish motives) and she herself would begin to tol- 
erate and then to trust him, and eventually — ^well, who 
knew what might or might not happen ? What said the 
great Talleyrand ? — With Time and Patience, the 
Mulberry Leaf is Turned into Satin. 

But Pratt’s self-complacency received a shock next 
morning. If he had been a reader of London news- 
papers, it would have received a shock the day before. 
Pratt, however, was essentially parochial in his news- 
paper tastes — he never read anything but the Barford 
papers. And when he picked up the Barford morning 
journal and saw Eldrick’s advertisement for Parrawhite 
in a prominent place, he literally started from sheer sur- 
prise — not unmingled with alarm. It was as if he were 
the occupant of a strong position, only fortified, who 
suddenly finds a shell dropped into his outworks from 
a totally unexpected quarter. 

Parrawhite! Advertised for by Eldrick! Why? 


230 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

For what reason? For what purpose? With what 
idea? Parrawhite! — of all men in the world — Parra- 
white, of whom he had never wanted to hear again! 
And what on earth could Eldrick want with him, or with 
news of him? It would be — or might be — an uncom- 
monly awkward thing for him, Pratt, if a really ex- 
haustive search were made for Parrawhite. For nobody 
knew better than himself that one little thing leads to 
another, and — but he forbore to follow out what might 
have been his train of thought. Once he was tempted 
to make an excuse for going round to Eldrick & Pascoe’s 
with the idea of fishing for information — but he re- 
frained. Let things develop — that was a safer plan.^ 
Still, he was anxious and disturbed all day. Then, to- 
wards the end of the afternoon, he bought one of the 
Barford evening papers — and saw, in staring letters, the 
advertisement which Byner had caused to be inserted 
only a few hours previously. And at that, Pratt be- 
came afraid. 

Parrawhite wanted! — news of Parrawhite wanted! — 
and in two separate quarters. Wanted by Eldrick — 
wanted by some London people ! What in the name of 
the devil did it mean ? At any rate, he must see to him- 
self. One thing was certain — no search for Parrawhite 
must be permitted in Barford. 

That evening, instead of going home to dinner, Pratt 
remained in town, and dined at a quiet restaurant. 
When he dined, he thought, and planned, and schemed 
— and after treating himself very well in the matter of 
food and drink, he lighted a cigar, returned to his new 
offices, opened a safe which he had just set up, and took 


231 


THE CAT’S? AW 

from a drawer in it a hundred pounds in bank-notes. 
With these in his pocket-book he went off to a quiet part 
of the town — the part in which James Parrawhite had 
lodged during his stay in Barford. 

Pratt turned into a somewhat mean and shabby street 
— a street of small, poor-class shops. He went forward 
amongst them until he came to one which, if anything, 
was meaner and shabbier than the others and bore over 
its window the name Reuben Murgatroyd — ^Watchmaker 
and Jeweller. There were few signs of jewellery in 
Reuben Murgatroyd ’s window — some cheap clocks, some 
foreign-made watches of the five-shilling and seven-and- 
six variety, a selection of flashy rings and chains were 
spread on the shelves, equally cheap and flashy bangles, 
bracelets, and brooches lay in dust-covered trays on the 
sloping bench beneath them. At these things Pratt cast 
no more than a contemptuous glance. But he looked 
with interest at the upper part of the window, in which 
were displayed numerous gaily-coloured handbills and 
small posters relating to shipping — chiefl}^ in the way of 
assisted passages to various parts of the globe. These 
set out that you could get an assisted passage to Canada 
for so much; to Australia for not much more — and if 
the bills and posters themselves did not tell you all you 
wanted to know, certain big letters at the foot of each 
invited you to apply for further information to Mr. R. 
Murgatroyd, agent, within. And Pratt pushed open the 
shop-door and walked inside. 

An untidily dressed, careworn, anxious-looking man 
came forward from a parlour at the rear of his shop. 
At sight of Pratt — who in the coursQ of business had once 


2S2 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

served him with a writ — his pale face flushed, and then 
whitened, and Pratt hastened to assure him of his peace- 
ful errand. 

‘‘All right, Mr. Murgatroyd,” he said. “Nothing to 
be alarmed about — I ’m out of that line, now — no papers 
of that sort tonight. IVe a bit of business I can put in 
your hands — profitable business. Look here ! — have 

you got a quarter of an hour to spare ? ’ ^ 

Murgatroyd, who looked greatly relieved to find that 
his visitor had neither writ nor summons for him, glanced 
at his parlour door. 

“I was just going to put the shutters up, and sit down 
to a bite of supper, Mr. Pratt, ’’ he answered. “Will 
you come in, sir?’’ 

“No — ^you come out with me,” said Pratt. “Come 
round to the Coach and Horses, and have a drink and we 
can talk. You’ll have a better appetite for your sup- 
per when you come back, ’ ’ he added, with a wink. I ’ve 
a profitable job for you.” 

“Glad to hear it, sir,” replied Murgatroyd. “I can 
do with aught of that sort, I assure you ! ” He went into 
the parlour, said a word or two to some person within, 
and came out again. “Not much business doing at pres- 
ent, Mr. Pratt,” he said, as he and his visitor turned into 
the street. “Gets slacker than ever.” 

‘ ‘ Then you ’ll do with a slice of good luck, ’ ’ remarked 
Pratt. “It just happens that I can put a bit in your 
way. ’ ’ 

He led Murgatroyd to the end of the street, where 
stood a corner tavern, into a side-door of which Pratt 
turned as if he were well acquainted with the geography 


THE CAT’SPAW 2SS 

of the place. Walking down a narrow passage he con- 
ducted his companion into a small parlour, at that mom- 
ent untenanted, pointed him to a seat in the corner, and 
rang the bell. Five minutes later, having provided Mur- 
gatroyd with rum and water and a cigar, he turned on 
him with a direct question. 

“Look here !” he said in a low voice. “Would a hun- 
dred pounds be any use to you?’^ 

Murgatroyd’s cheeks flushed. 

“It ’ud be a fortune!’^ he answered with fervour. 
“A hundred pound! Lor’ bless you, Mr. Pratt, it’s 
many a year since I saw a hundred pound — of my own 
— all in one lump ! ’ ’ 

Pratt pulled out his roll of bank-notes, fluttered it in 
his companion ’s face, laid it on the table, and set an ash- 
tray on it. 

“There’s a hundred pounds there!” he said. “It’s 
yours to pick up — if you’ll do a little job for me. Easy 
job, too! — ^you’ll never earn a hundred pounds so easy 
in your life!” 

Murgatroyd pricked up his ears. According to his 
ideas, money easily come by was seldom honestly earned. 
He stirred uncomfortably in his seat. 

“So long as it’s a straight job,” he muttered. “I 
don’t want ” 

“Straight enough — as straight as it’s easy,” answered 
Pratt. “It may seem a bit mysterious, but there’s rea- 
sons for that. I give you my word it’s all right — all a 
mere bit of diplomacy — and that nobody’ll ever know 
you’re in it — that is, beyond a certain stage — and that 
there’s no danger to you.” 


234 ! THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

“What is it?” asked Murgatroyd, still uneasy and 
doubtful. 

Pratt pulled the evening paper out of his pocket and 
showed Murgatroyd the advertisement signed Halstead 
& Byner. 

“You see that ? ” he said. ‘ ^ Information wanted about 
Parrawhite. Do you remember Parrawhite? He once 
served you with some papers in that affair in which we 
were against you.” 

“I remember him,” answered Murgatroyd. “IVe 
seen him in here now and again. So he ’s wanted, is he ? 
I didn ’t know he ’d left the town. ’ ’ 

“Left last November,” said Pratt. “And — there are 
folks — influential folks, as you can guess, seeing that 
they can throw a hundred pounds away! — who don’t 
want any inquiries made for him in Barford. They 
don’t mind — those folks — ^how many inquiries and 
searches are made for him anywhere else, but — not 
here ! ’ ’ 

“Well?” asked Murgatroyd anxiously. 

“This is it,” replied Pratt. “You do a bit now and 
then as agent for some of these shipping lines. You 
book passages for emigrants — and for other people, go- 
ing to New Zealand or Canada or Timb.uctoo — never 
mind where. Now then — couldn’t you remember — I’m 
sure you could — that you booked a passage for Parra- 
white to America last November? Come! It’s an easy 
matter to remember is that — for a hundred pounds.” 

Murgatroyd ’s thin fingers trembled a little as he picked 
up his glass. “What do you want me to do — exactly?” 
he asked. 


THE CAT’SPAW 2S5 

‘‘This!’^ said Pratt. “I want you, tomorrow morn- 
ing, early, to send a telegram to these people, Halstead 
& Byner, St. Martin’s Chambers, London, just saying 
that James Parrawhite left Barford for America on No- 
vember 24th last, and that you can give further infor- 
mation if necessary.” 

“And what if it is necessary?” inquired Murgatroyd. 

“Then — in answer to any letter or telegram of in- 
quiry — you’ll just say that you knew Parrawhite by 
sight as a clerk at Eldrick & Pascoe’s in this town, that 
on November 23rd he told you that he was going to emi- 
grate to America, that next day you booked him his pas- 
sage, for which he paid you whatever it was, and that he 
thereupon set off for Liverpool. See?” 

“It’s all lies, you know,” muttered Murgatroyd. 

“Nobody can find ’em out, anyway,” replied Pratt. 
“That’s the one important thing to consider. You’re 
safe! And if you’re cursed with a conscience and it’s 
tender — well, that ’ll make a good plaister for it 1’ ’ 

He pointed to the little wad of bank-notes — and the 
man sitting at his side followed the pointing finger with 
hungry eyes. Murgatroyd wanted money badly. His 
business, always poor, was becoming worse : his shipping 
agency rarely produced any result: his rent was in ar- 
rears : he owed money to his neighbour-tradesmen : he had 
a wife and young children. To such a man, a hundred 
pounds meant relief, comfort, the lifting of pressure. 

“You’re sure there’s naught wrong in it, Mr. Pratt,” 
he asked abruptly and assiduously. “It ’ud be a bad 
job for my family if anything happened to me, you 
know. ’ ’ 


236 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

“There’s naught that will happen,” answered Pratt 
confidently. ‘ ‘ Who on earth can contradict you ? Who 
knows what people you sell passages to — but yourself ? ’ ’ 

“There’s the folks themselves,” replied Murgatroyd. 
“Suppose Parrawhite turns up?” 

‘ ‘ He won ’t ! ” exclaimed Pratt. 

“You know where he is?” suggested Murgatroyd. 

“Not exactly,” said Pratt. “But — he’s left this 
country for another — further off than America. That’s 
certain! And — the folks I referred to don’t want any 
inquiry about him here. ’ ’ 

“If I am asked questions — later — am I to say he 
booked in his own name ? ’ ’ inquired Murgatroyd. 

“No — name of Parsons,” responded Pratt. “Here, 
I’ll write down for you exactly what I want you to say 
in the telegram to Halstead & Byner, and I’ll make a 
few memoranda for you — to post you up in case they 
write for further information.” 

‘ ‘ I haven ’t said that I ’ll do it, ’ ’ remarked Murgatroyd. 
“I don’t like the looks of it. It’s all a pack of lies.” 

Pratt paid no heed to this moral reflection. He found 
some loose paper in his pocket and scribbled on it for a 
while. Then, as if accidentally, he moved the ash-tray, 
and the bank-notes beneath it, all new, gave forth a crisp, 
rustling sound. 

“Here you are!” said Pratt, pushing notes and mem- 
oranda towards his companion. “Take the brass, man! 
— you don’t get a job like that every day.” 

And Murgatroyd put the money in his pocket, and 
presently went home, persuading himself that everything 
would be all right. 


CHAPTER XXIII 
SMOOTH FACE AND ANXIOUS BRAIN 

Byner watched Eldrick and Collingwood inquisitively 
as they bent over Halstead’s telegram. He was not sur- 
prised when Collingwood merely nodded in silence — nor 
when Eldrick turned excitedly in his own direction. 

“There! — ^what did I tell you?” he exclaimed. 
“There’s been no murder! The man left the town. 
Probably, Pratt helped him off. Couldn’t have better 
proof than that wire!” 

“What do you take that wire to prove, then, Mr. Eld- 
rick?” asked Byner. 

“Take it to prove?” answered Eldrick. “Why, that 
Parrawhite booked a passage to America with this man 
Murgatroyd, last November. Clear enough, that!” 

“What do you take it to prove, Mr. Collingwood?” 
continued the inquiry agent, as he turned to the barrister 
with a smile. 

‘ ‘ Before I take it for anything, ’ ’ replied Collingwood, 
‘ ‘ I want to know who Murgatroyd is. ” 

Byner looked at Eldrick and laughed. 

“Precisely!” he said. “Who is Murgatroyd? Per- 
haps Mr. Eldrick knows.” 

“I do just know that he’s a man who carries on a small 
watch and clock business in a poorish part of the town, 
and that he has some sort of a shipping agency,” au- 
237 


SS8 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

swered Eldrick. “But — do you mean to imply that 
whatever message it is that he’s sent to your partner in 
London this morning has not been sent in good faith ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t imply anything,” answered Byner. “All 
I say is — ^before I attach any value to his message I, like 
Collingwood, want to know something about the sender. 
He may have been put up to sending it. He may be in 
collusion with somebody. Now, Mr. Eldrick, you can 
come in here — strongly ! I don ’t want to be seen in this 
affair — yet. Will you go and see Murgatroyd? Tell 
him his wire to Halstead & Byner in London has been 
communicated to you here. Ask him for further par- 
ticulars — and then drop in on me at my hotel and tell 
me what you’ve learnt. I’ll be found in the smoking- 
room there any time after two-thirty onward.” 

Eldrick ’s intense curiosity in what was rapidly be- 
coming a fascinating mystery to him, led him to accept 
this embassy. And a little before three o ’clock he walked 
into the smoking-room at the Central Hotel and discov- 
ered Byner in a comfortable corner. 

“I’ve seen Murgatroyd,” he whispered, as he took an 
adjacent chair. “Decent honest enough man — very 
poor, I should say. He tells a plain enough story. Par- 
rawhite, whom he knew as one of our clerks, told him, 
last November 23rd ” 

“He was exact about dates, then, was he?” inter- 
rupted Byner. 

“He mentioned them readily enough,” replied the 
solicitor. “But to go on — Parra white mentioned to him, 
November 23rd last, that he wanted to go to America at 
once. Murgatroyd told him about bookings. Parra- 


SMOOTH FACE AND ANXIOUS BRAIN 239 

white called very early next morning, paid for his pas- 
sage under the name of Parsons, and went off — en route 
for Liverpool, of course. So — there you are ! ’ ’ 

“That’s all Murgatroyd could tell?” inquired Byner. 

“That’s all he knows,” answered Eldrick. 

“You say Murgatroyd knew Parra white as one of your 
clerks?” asked Byner after a moment’s thought. 

“We had some process in hand against this man last 
autumn, ’ ’ replied Eldrick. ‘ ‘ I dare say Parrawhite 
served him with papers. ’ ’ 

“Would he — Murgatroyd — be likely to know Pratt?” 
continued Byner. 

“He might — in the same connection,” admitted Eld- 
rick. 

Byner smoked in silence for a while. 

* ‘ Do you know what I think, Mr. Eldrick ? ” he said at 
last. “I think Pratt put up Murgatroyd to sending 
that telegram to us in London this morning.” 

“You do!” exclaimed Eldrick. 

“Surely! And now,” continued the inquiry agent, 
“if you will, you can do more — much more — without ap- 
pearing to do anything. Pratt ’s office is only a few min- 
utes away. Can you drop in there, making some excuse, 
and while there, mention, more or less casually, that Par- 
rawhite, or information about him, is wanted; that you 
and a certain Halstead & Byner are advertising for him ; 
that you’ve just seen Murgatroyd in respect of a com- 
munication which he wired to Halstead’s this morning, 
and that — most important of all — a fortune of twenty 
thousand pounds is awaiting Parrawhite! Don’t forget 
the last bit of news. ’ ’ 


240 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

^‘Why that particularly?’^ asked Eldrick. 

‘‘Because,” answered Byner solemnly, “I want Pratt 
to know that the search for Parrawhite is going to be a 
thorough one ! ’ ’ 

Eldrick went off on his second mission, promising to 
return in due course. Within a few minutes he was in 
Pratt’s office, talking over some unimportant matter of 
business which he had invented as he went along. It 
was not until he was on the point of departure that he 
referred to the real reason of his visit. 

“Did you notice that Parrawhite is being advertised 
for?” he asked, suddenly turning on his old clerk. 

Pratt was ready for this — had been ready ever since 
Eldrick walked in. He affected a fine surprise. 

“Parrawhite!” he exclaimed. “Why — who’s adver- 
tising for him ? ’ ’ 

“Don’t you see the newspapers?” asked Eldrick, 
pointing to some which lay about the room. “It’s in 
there — there’s an advertisement of mine, and one of 
Halstead & Byner ’s, of London.” 

Pratt picked up a Barford paper and looked at the 
advertisements with a clever affectation of having never 
seen them before. 

‘ ‘ I haven ’t had much time for newspaper reading this 
last day or two,” he remarked. “Advertisements for 
him — from two quarters!” 

“Acting together — acting together, you know!” re- 
plied Eldrick. “It’s those people who really want him 
■—Halstead & Byner, inquiry agents, working for a firm 
of City solicitors. I’m only local agent — as it were.” 

“Had any response, Mr. Eldrick?” asked Pratt, 


SMOOTH FACE AND ANXIOUS BRAIN 241 

throwing aside the paper. “Any one come forward?” 

“Yes,” answered Eldrick, watching Pratt narrowly 
without seeming to do so. “This morning, a man named 
Murgatroyd, in Peel Row, who does a bit of shipping 
agency, wired to Halstead & Byner to say that he booked 
Parrawhite to New York last November. Of course, they 
at once communicated with me, and I Ve just been to see 
Murgatroyd. lie’s that man — watchmaker — we had 
some proceedings against last year.” 

“Oh, that man!” said Pratt. “Thought the name 
was familiar. I remember him. And what does he 
say ? ’ ’ 

“Just about as much as — and little more than — he said 
in his wire to London,” replied Eldrick. “Booked Par- 
rawhite to America November 24th last, and believes he 
left for Liverpool there and then. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Ah 1 ’ ’ remarked Pratt. ‘ ‘ That explains it, then ? ’ ’ 

“Explains — what?” asked Eldrick. 

Pratt gave his old employer a look — confidential and 
significant. 

“Explains why he took that money out of your desk,” 
he said. “You remember — forty odd pounds. He’d use 
some of that for his passage-money. America eh? Now 
— I suppose he’s vanished for good, then — it’s not very 
likely he’ll ever be heard of from across there.” 

Eldrick laughed — meaningly, of set purpose. 

“We don’t know that he’s gone there,” he observed. 
“He mightn’t get beyond Liverpool, you know. Any- 
how, we’re going to make a very good search for him 
here in Barford, first. We’ve nothing but Murgatroyd ’s 
word for his having set out for Liverpool.” 


THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘'What’s he wanted for?” asked Pratt as unconcern- 
edly as possible. “Been up to something?” 

“No,” answered Eldrick, as he turned on his heel. 
“A relation has left him twenty thousand pounds. 
That’s what he’s wanted for — and why he must be found 
— or his death proved. ’ ’ 

He gave Pratt another quick glance and went off — to 
return to the hotel and Byner, to whom he at once gave 
a faithful account of what had just taken place. 

“And he didn’t turn a hair,” he remarked. “Cool 
as a cucumber, all through! If your theory is correct, 
Pratt’s a cleverer hand than I ever took him for — and 
I’ve always said he was clever.” 

“Didn’t show anything when you mentioned Murga- 
troyd?” asked Byner. 

“Not a shred of a thing!” replied Eldrick. 

“Nor when you spoke of the twenty thousand 
pounds ? ’ ’ 

“No more than what you might call polite and inter- 
ested surprise ! ’ ’ 

Byner laughed, threw away the end of a cigar, and 
rose out of his lounging posture. 

“Now, Mr. Eldrick,” he said, leaning close to the 
solicitor, “between ourselves, do you know what I’m go- 
ing to do — next — which means at once ? ’ ’ 

“No,” replied Eldrick. 

“The police!” whispered Byner. “That’s my next 
move. Just now! Within a few minutes. So — will 
you give me a couple of notes — one to the principal man 
here — chief constable, or police superintendent, or what- 
ever he is; and another to the best detective there is here 


SMOOTH FACE AND ANXIOUS BRAIN 243 
— in your opinion. They’ll save me a lot of trouble.” 

‘‘Of course — if you wish it,” answered Eldrick. 
“But you don’t mean to say you’re going to have Pratt 
arrested — on what you know up to now?” 

“Not at all!” replied Byner. ‘‘Much too soon! All 
I want is — detective help of the strictly professional kind. 
No — we’ll give Mr. Pratt a little more rope yet — for 
another f our-and-twenty-hours, say. But — it ’ll come ! 
Now, who is the best local detective — a quiet, steady fel- 
low who knows how to do his work unobtrusively?” 

“Prydale’s the man!” said Eldrick. “Detective-Ser- 
geant Prydale — I’ve had reason to employ him, more 
than once. I’ll give you a note to him, and one to 
Superintendent Waterson.” 

He went over to a writing-table and scribbled a few 
lines on half-sheets of notepaper which he enclosed in 
envelopes and handed to Byner. 

“I don’t know what line you’re taking,” he said, “nor 
where it ’s going to end — exactly. But I do know this — 
Pratt never turned a hair when I let out all that to him.” 

But if Eldrick went away from his old clerk’s fine 
new offices thinking that Pratt was quite unperturbed 
and unmoved by the news he had just acquired, he was 
utterly mistaken. Pratt was very much perturbed, 
deeply moved, not a little frightened. He had so 
schooled himself to keep a straight and ever blank ex- 
pression of countenance in any sudden change of events 
that he had shown nothing to Eldrick — ^but he was none 
the less upset by the solicitor’s last announcement. 
Twenty thousand pounds was lying to be picked up by 
Parrawhite — or by Parra white’s next-of-kin! What an 


2H THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
unhappy turn of fortune! For the next-of-kin would 
never rest until either Parrawhite came to light, or it was 
satisfactorily established that he was dead — and if search 
begun to be made in Barford, where might not that 
search end? Unmoved? — cool? — if Eldrick had turned 
back, he would have found that Pratt had suddenly given 
way to a fit of nerves. 

But that soon passed, and Pratt began to think. He 
left his office early, and betook himself to his favourite 
gymnasium. Exercise did him good — he thought a lot 
while he was exercising. And once more, instead of go- 
ing home to dinner, he dined in town, and he sat late over 
his dinner in a snug corner of the restaurant, and he 
thought and planned and schemed — and after twilight 
had fallen on Barford, he went out and made his way to 
Peel Row. He must see Murgatroyd again — at once. 

Half-way along Peel Row, Pratt stopped, suddenly — 
and with sudden fear. Out of a side street emerged a 
man, a quiet ordinary-looking man whom he knew very 
well indeed — Detective-Sergeant Prydale. He was ac- 
companied by a smart-looking, much younger man, whom 
Pratt remembered to have seen in Beck Street that after- 
noon — a stranger to him and to Barford. And as he 
watched, these two covered the narrow roadway, and 
walked into Murgatroyd ’s shop. 


CHAPTER XXIY 


THE BETTER HALF 

Under the warming influence of two glasses of rum 
and water, and lulled by Pratt ’s assurance that all would 
be well, Murgatroyd had carried home his hundred 
pounds with pretty much the same feeling which per- 
meates a man who, having been within measurable dis- 
tance of drowning, suddenly finds a substantial piece 
of timber drifting his way, and takes a firm grip on it. 
After all, a hundred pounds was a hundred pounds. He 
would be able to pay his rent, and his rates, and give 
something to the grocer and the butcher and the baker 
and the milkman; the children should have some much- 
needed new clothes and boots — when all this was done, 
there would be a nice balance left over. And it was 
Pratt’s affair, when all was said and done, and if any 
trouble arose, why, Pratt would have to settle it. So he 
ate his supper with the better appetite which Pratt had 
prophesied, and he slept more satisfactorily than usual, 
and next morning he went to the nearest telegraph office 
and sent off the stipulated telegram to Halstead & Byner 
in London, and hoped that there was the end of the mat- 
ter as far as he was concerned. And then, shortly after 
noon, in walked Mr. Eldrick, one of the tribe which Mur- 
gatroyd dreaded, having had various dealings with so- 
245 


24?6 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
licitors, in the way of writs and summonses, and began 
to ask questions. 

Murgatroyd emerged from that ordeal very satisfac- 
torily. Eldrick’s questions were few, elementary, and 
easily answered. There were no signs of suspicion about 
him, and Murgatroyd breathed more freely when he was 
gone. It seemed to him that the solicitor’s visit would 
certainly wind things up — for him. Eldrick asked all 
that could be asked, as far as he could see, and he had 
replied: now, he would probably be bothered no more. 
His spirits had assumed quite a cheerful tone by evening 
— but they received a rude shock when, summoned from 
his little workshop to the front premises, he found him- 
self confronting one man whom he certainly knew to be 
a detective, and another who might be one. Do what he 
would he could not conceal some agitation, and Detective- 
Sergeant Prydale, a shrewdly observant man, noticed it 
— and affected not to. 

“Evening, Mr. Murgatroyd,” he said cheerily. 
“We’ve come to see if you can give us a bit of informa- 
tion. You’ve had Mr. Eldrick, the lawyer, here today 
on the same business. You know — this affair of an old 
clerk of his — Parrawhite ? ’ ’ 

“I told Mr. Eldrick all I know,” muttered Murga- 
troyd. 

“Very likely,” replied Prydale, “but there’s a few 
questions this gentleman and myself would like to ask. 
Can we come in ? ” 

Murgatroyd fetched his wife to mind the shop, and 
took the callers into the parlour which she had unwill- 
ingly vacated. He knew Prydale by sight and reputa- 


THE BETTER HALF 


247 

tion; about Byner he wondered. Finally he set him 
down as a detective from London — and was all the more 
afraid of him. 

‘‘What do you want to know?” he asked, when the 
three men were alone. “I don’t think there’s anything 
that I didn’t tell Mr. Eldrick.” 

“Oh, there’s a great deal that Mr. Eldrick didn’t ask,” 
said Prydale. “Mr. Eldrick sort of just skirted round 
things, like. We want to know a bit more. This Par- 
rawhite’s got to be found, d’ye see, Mr. Murgatroyd, 
and as you seem to be the last man who had aught to do 
with him in Barford, why, naturally, we come to you. 
Now, to start with, you say he came to you about getting 
a passage to America? Just so — now, when woiild that 
be?” 

“Day before he did get it,” answered Murgatroyd, 
rapidly thinking over the memoranda which Pratt had 
jotted down for his benefit. 

“That,” said Prydale, “would be on the 23rd?” 

“Yes,” replied Murgatroyd, “23rd November, of 
course.” 

“What time, now, on the 23rd?” asked the detective. 

“Time?” said Murgatroyd. “Oh — in the evening.” 

“Bit vague,” remarked Prydale. “What time in the 
evening ? ’ ’ 

“As near as I can recollect,” replied Murgatroyd, “it 
’ud be just about half-past eight. I was thinking of 
closing. ’ ’ 

“Ah!” said Prydale, with a glance at Byner, who 
had already told him of Parra white’s presence at the 
Green Man on the other side of the town, a good two 


248 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

miles away, at the hour which Murgatroyd mentioned. 
^‘Ah! — he was here in your shop at half-past eight on 
the evening of November 23rd last? Asking about a 
ticket to America ? ’ ’ 

‘‘New York,’^ muttered Murgatroyd. 

“And he came next morning and bought one?^^ asked 
the detective. 

“I told Mr. Eldrick that,” said Murgatroyd, a little 
sullenly. 

“How much did it cost?” inquired Byner. 

“Eight pound ten,” replied Murgatroyd. “Usual 
price. ’ ’ 

“What did he pay for it in?” continued Yrydale. 

‘ ‘ He gave me a ten-pound note and I gave him thirty 
shillings change,” answered Murgatroyd. 

“Just so,” assented Prydale. “Now what line might 
that be by?” 

Murgatroyd was becoming uneasy under all these 
questions, and his uneasiness was deepened by the way 
in which both his visitors watched him. He was a man 
who would have been a bad witness in any case — nervous, 
ill at ease, suspicious, inclined to boggle — and in this 
instance he was being forced to invent answers. 

‘ ‘ It was — oh, the Royal Atlantic ! ” he answered at last. 
“ I Ve an agency for them. ’ ’ 

“So I noticed from the bills and placards in your win- 
dow,” observed the detective. “And of course you issue 
these tickets on their paper — I’ve seen ’em before. You 
fill up particulars on a form and a counterfoil, don’t 
you? And you send a copy of those particulars to the 
Royal Atlantic offices at Liverpool ? ’ ’ 


THE BETTER HALF 249 

Mugratroyd nodded silently — this was much more 
than he bargained for, and he did not know how much 
further it was going. And Prydale gave him a sudden 
searching look. 

“Can you show us the counterfoil in this instance?” 
he asked. 

Murgatroyd flushed. But he managed to get out a 
fairly quick reply. “No, I can’t,” he answered, “I sent 
that book back at the end of the year. ’ ’ 

“Oh, well — they’ll have it at Liverpool,” observed 
Prydale. “We can get at it there. Of course, they’ll 
have your record of the entire transaction. He’d be 
down on their passenger list — under the name of Parsons, 
I think, Mr. Murgatroyd?” 

“He gave me that name,” said Murgatroyd. 

Prydale gave Byner a look and both rose. 

“I think that’s about all,” said the detective. “Of 
course, our next inquiry will be at Liverpool — at the 
Royal Atlantic. Thank you, Mr. Murgatroyd — much 
obliged.” 

Before the watchmaker could collect himself sufficient- 
ly to say or ask more, Prydale and his companion had 
walked out of the shop and gone away. And then Mur- 
gatroyd realized that he was in for — but he did not know 
what he was in for. What he did know was that if Pry- 
dale went or sent over to Liverpool the whole thing would 
burst like a bubble. For the Royal Atlantic people 
would tell the detectives at once that no passenger 
named Parsons had sailed under their auspices on No- 
vember 24th last, and that he, Murgatroyd, had been tell- 
ing a pack of lies. 


250 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Mrs. Murgatroyd, a sharp-featured woman whose wits 
had been sharpened by a ten years’ daily acquaintance 
with poverty, came out of the shop into the parlour and 
looked searchingly at her husband. 

“What did them fellows want?” she demanded. “I 
knew one of ’em — Prydale, the detective. Now what’s 
up, Reuben? More trouble?” 

Murgatroyd hesitated a moment. Then he told his 
wife the whole story concealing nothing. 

“If they go to the Royal Atlantic, it’ll all come out,” 
he groaned. “I couldn’t make any excuse or explana- 
tion — anyhow! What’s to be done?” 

“You should ha’ had naught to do wi’ that Pratt!” 
explaimed Mrs. Murgatroyd. “A scoundrelly fellow, 
to come and tempt poor folk to do his dirty work! 
Where ’s the money ? ’ ’ 

“Locked up!” answered Murgatroyd. “I haven’t 
touched a penny of it. I thought I’d wait a bit and 
see if aught happened. But he assured me it was all 
right, and you know as well as I do that a hundred pound 
doesn’t come our way every day. We want money!” 

“Not at that price!” said his wife. “You can pay 
too much for money, my lad ! I wish you’d told me what 
that Pratt was after — ^he should have heard a bit o’ my 
tongue! If I’d only known ” 

Just then the shop door opened, and Pratt walked in. 
He at once saw Murgatroyd and his wife standing be- 
tween shop and parlour, and realized at a glance that 
his secret in this instance was his no longer. 

“Well?” he said, walking up to the watchmaker. 
“You’ve had Prydale here — and you’d Eldrick this 


THE BETTER HALE 251 

morning. Of course, you knew what to say to both?’^ 
“I wish we’d never had you here last night, young 
man!” exclaimed Mrs. Murgatroyd fiercely. “What 
right have you to come here, making trouble for folk 
that’s got plenty already? But at any rate, ours was 
honest trouble. Yours is like to land my husband in 
dishonesty — if it hasn’t done so already! And if my 

husband had only spoken to me ” 

‘ ‘ J ust let your husband speak a bit now, ’ ’ interrupted 
Pratt, almost insolently. “It’s you that’s making all 
the trouble or noise, anyhow! There’s naught to fuss 
about, missis. What’s upset you, Murgatroyd?” 

“They’re going to the Royal Atlantic people,” mut- 
tered the watchmaker. “Of course, it’ll all come out, 
then. They know that I never booked any Parsons — nor 
anybody else for that matter — last November. You 
should ha ’ thought o ’ that ! ’ ’ 

Pratt realized that the man was right. He had never 
thought of that — never anticipated that inquiry would 
go beyond Murgatroyd. But his keen wits at once set 
to work. 

“What’s the system?” he asked quickly. “Tell me — 
what’s done when you book anybody like that? Come 
on! — explain, quick!” 

Murgatroyd turned to a drawer and pulled out a book 
and some papers. “It’s simple enough,” he said. 
“I’ve this book of forms, d’ye see? I fill up this form 
— sort of ticket or pass for the passenger, and hand it 
to him — it’s a receipt as well, to him. Then I enter 
the same particulars on that counterfoil. Then I fill up 
one of these papers, giving just the same particulars. 


252 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

and post it at once to the Company with the passage 
money, less my commission. When one of these books 
is finished, I return the counterfoils to Liverpool — they 
check ’em. Prydale’s up to all that. He asked to see 
the counterfoil in this case. I had to say I hadn’t got 
it — I’d sent it to the Company. Of course, he’ll find 
out that I didn’t.” 

“Lies!” said Mrs. Murgatroyd, vindictively. “And 
they didn’t start wi’ us neither!” 

“Who was that other man with Prydale ? ” asked Pratt. 

‘ ‘ London detective, I should say, ’ ’ answered the watch- 
maker. “And judging by the way he watched me, a 
sharp ’un, too ! ” 

“What impression did you get — altogether?” de- 
manded Pratt. 

“Why! — that they’re going to sift this affair — what- 
ever it is — right down to the bottom!” exclaimed Mur- 
gatroyd. “They’re either going to find Parrawhite or 
get to know what became of him. That’s my impression. 
And what am I going to do, now? This’ll lose me what 
bit of business I ’ve done with yon shipping firm. ’ ’ 

“Nothing of the sort!” answered Pratt scornfully. 
“Don’t be a fool! You’re all right. You listen to me. 
You write — straight off — to the Royal Atlantic. Tell 
’em you had some inquiry made about a man named Par- 
sons, who booked a passage with you for New York last 
November. Say that on looking up your books you 
found that you unaccountably forgot to send them the 
forms for him and his passage money. Make out a form 
for that date, and crumple it up — as if it had been left 
lying in a drawer. Enclose the money in it — here, I’ll 


THE BETTER HALF 253 

give you ten pounds to cover it,” he went on, drawing a 
bank-note from his purse. “Get it off at once — you’ve 
time now — plenty — to catch the night-mail at the Gen- 
eral. And then, d’ye see, you’re all right. It’s only a 
case then — as far as you’re concerned — of forgetfulness. 
What’s that? — we all forget something in business, now 
and then. They’ll overlook that — when they get the 
money. ’ ’ 

“Aye, but you’re forgetting something now!” re- 
marked Murgatroyd. “You’re forgetting this — no such 
passenger ever went! They’ll know that by their pas- 
senger lists.” 

“What the devil has that to do with it?” snarled Pratt 
impatiently. “What the devil do we care whether any 
such passenger went or not? All that you’re concerned 
about is to prove that you issued a ticket to Parrawhite, 
under the name of Parsons. What’s it matter to you 
where Parrawhite, aHas Parsons, went, when he’d once 
left your shop? You naturally thought he’d go straight 
to the Lancashire and Yorkshire Station, on his way to 
Liverpool and New York ! But, for aught you know, he 
may have fallen down a drain pipe in the next street! 
Don’t you see, man? There nothing, there’s nobody, 
not all the detectives in London and Barford, can prove 
that you didn’t issue a ticket to Parrawhite on that date? 
It isn’t up to you to prove that you did ! — it’s up to them 
to prove that you didn’t! And — they can’t. It’s im- 
possible. You get that letter off — at once — to Liverpool, 
with that money inside it, and you ’re as safe as houses — 
and your hundred pounds as well. Get it done! And 
if those chaps come asking any more questions, tell ’em 


^54 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

you ’re not going to answer a single one ! Mind you ! — 

do what I tell you, and you’re safe!” 

With that Pratt walked out of the shop and went off 
towards the centre of the town, inwardly raging and 
disturbed. It was very evident that these people meant 
to find Parrawhite, alive or dead ; evident, too, that they 
had called in the aid of the Barford police. And in spite 
of all his assurances to the watchmaker and his sugges- 
tion for the next move, Pratt was far from easy about 
the whole matter. He would have been easier if he had 
known who Prydale’s companion was — probably he was, 
as Murgatroyd had suggested, a London detective who 
might have been making inquiries in the town for some 
time and knew much more than he, Pratt, could surmise. 
That was the devil of the whole thing! — in Pratt’s opin- 
ion. Adept himself in working underground, he feared 
people who adopted the same tactics. What was this 
stranger chap after? What did he know? What was 
he doing? Had he let Eldrick know anything? Was 
there a web of detectives already being spun around 
himself? Was that silly, unfortunate affair with Par- 
rawhite being slowly brought to light — to wreck him on 
the very beginning of what he meant to be a brilliant 
career? He cursed Parrawhite again and again as he 
left Peel Row behind him. 

The events of the day had made Pratt cautious as 
well as anxious. He decided to keep away from his 
lodgings that night, and when he reached the centre of 
the town he took a room at a quiet hotel. He was up 
early next morning ; he had breakfasted by eight o ’clock ; 
b^ half-past eight he^ was at his office. And in his let- 


THE BETTER HALF 255 

ter-box be found one letter — a tbickish package wbicb 
bad not come by post, but bad been dropped in by band, 
and was merely addressed to Mr. Pratt. 

Pratt tore that package open with a conviction of im- 
minent disaster. He pulled out a sheet of cheap note- 
paper — and a wad of bank-notes. His face worked cur- 
iously as be read a few lines, scrawled in illiterate, fe- 
male bandwriting. 

Pratt, — My husband and me don’t want any 
more to do with either you or your money which it is 
enclosed. Been honest up to now though poor, and in- 
tending to remain so our purpose is to make a clean 
breast of everything to the police first thing tomorrow 
morning for which you have nobody but yourself to 
blame for wickedness in tempting poor people to do 
wrong. 


Yours, Mrs. Murgatroyd.” 


CHAPTER XXV 

DRY SHERRY 

Pratt wasted no time in cursing Mrs. Murgatroyd. 
There would be plenty of opportunity for such relief to 
his feelings later on. Just then he had other matters to 
occupy him — fully. He tore the indignant letter to 
shreds; he hastily thrust the bank-notes into one pocket 
and drew his keys from another. Within five minutes 
he had taken from his safe a sealed packet, which he 
placed in an inside pocket of his coat, and had left his 
office — for the last time, as he knew very well. That 
part of the game was up — and it was necessary to be 
smart in entering on another phase of it. 

Since Eldrick’s visit of the previous day, Pratt had 
been prepared for all eventuality. He had made ready 
for fiight. And he was not going empty-handed. He 
had a considerable amount of Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s money 
in his possession; by obtaining her signature to one or 
two documents he could easily obtain much more in Lon- 
don, at an hour’s notice. Those documents were all 
ready, and in the sealed packet which he had just taken 
from the safe; in it, too, were some other documents — 
John Mallathorpe ’s will; the letter which Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe had written to him on the evening previous to 
her son’s fatal accident; and the power of attorney 
256 


DRY SHERRY 257 

which Pratt had obtained from her at his first interview 
after that occurrence. All was ready — and now there 
was nothing to do but to get to Normandale Grange, see 
Mrs. Mallathorpe, and — vanish. He had planned it all 
out, carefully, when he perceived the first danger sig- 
nals, and knew that his other plans and schemes were 
doomed to failure. Half an hour at Normandale Grange 
— a journey to London — a couple of hours in the City 
— and then the next train to the Continent, on his way 
to regions much further off. Here, things had turned 
out badly, unexpectedly badly — ^but he would carry away 
considerable, easily transported wealth, to a new career 
in a new country. 

Pratt began his fiight in methodical fashion. He 
locked up his office, and left the building by a back en- 
trance which took him into a network of courts and al- 
leys at the rear of the business part of Barford. He 
made his way in and out of these places until he reached 
a bicycle-dealer’s shop in an obscure street, whereat he 
had left a machine of his own on the previous evening 
under the excuse of having it thoroughly cleaned and 
oiled. It was all ready for him on his arrival, and he 
presently mounted it and rode away through the out- 
skirts of the town, carefully choosing the less frequented 
streets and roads. He^. rode on until he was clear of 
Barford: until, in fact, he was some miles from it, and 
had reached a village which was certainly not on the 
way to Normandale. And then, at the post-office he dis- 
mounted, and going inside, wrote out and dispatched a 
telegram. It was a brief message containing but three 
words — “One as usual” — and it was addressed Esther 


258 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Mawson, The Grange, Normandale. This done, he re- 
mounted his bicycle, rode out of the village, and turned 
across country in quite a different direction. It was 
not yet ten o’clock — he had three hours to spare before 
the time came for keeping the appointment which he 
had just made. 

At an early stage of his operations, Pratt had found 
that even the cleverest of schemers cannot work unaided. 
It had been absolutely necessary to have some tool close 
at hand to Normandale Grange and its inhabitants; to 
have some person there upon whom he could depend for 
news. He had found that person, that tool, in Esther 
Mawson, who, as Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s maid, had oppor- 
tunities which he at once recognized as being likely to be 
of the greatest value to him. The circumstances of Har- 
per Mallathorpe ’s death had thrown Pratt and the maid 
together, and he had quickly discovered that she was to 
be bought, and would do anything for money. He had 
soon come to an understanding with her ; soon bargained 
with her, and made her a willing accomplice in certain 
of his schemes, without letting her know their full mean- 
ing and extent: all, indeed, that she had learned from 
Pratt was that he had some considerable hold on her mis- 
tress. 

But it is dangerous work to play with edged tools, and 
if Pratt had only known it, he was running great risks 
in using Esther Mawson as a semi-accomplice. Esther 
Mawson was in constant touch with her mistress, and 
Mrs. Mallathorpe, afraid of her daughter, and not greatly 
in sympathy with her, badly needed a confidante. Little 
by little the mistress began to CQpfide in the maid, and 


DRY SHERRY 


259 

before long Esther Mawson knew the secret — and thence- 
forward she played a double game. Pratt found her 
useful in arranging meetings with Mrs. Mallathorpe un- 
known to Nesta, and he believed her to be devoted to him. 
But the truth was that Esther Mawson had only one ob- 
ject of devotion — herself — and she was waiting and 
watching for an opportunity to benefit that object — at 
Pratt’s expense. 

Pratt knew nothing of this as he slowly made his way 
to Normandale that morning. Having plenty of time 
he went by devious and lonely roads and by-lanes. 
Eventually he came to the boundary of Normandale Park 
at a point far away from the Grange. There he dis- 
mounted, hid his bicycle in a coppice wherein he had 
often left it before, and went on towards the house 
through the woods and plantations. He knew every 
yard of the ground he traversed, and was skilled in tak- 
ing cover if he saw any sign of woodman or gamekeeper. 
And in the end, just as one o’clock chimed from the 
clock over the stables, he came to a quiet spot in the 
shrubberies behind the Grange, and found Esther Maw- 
son waiting for him in an old summer-house in which 
they had met on previous and similar occasions. 

Esther Mawson immediately realized that something 
unusual was in the air. Clever as Pratt was at con- 
cealing his feelings, she was cleverer in seeing small signs, 
and she saw that this was no ordinary visit. 

‘‘Anything wrong?” she asked at once. 

“Bit of bother — nothing much — it’ll blow over,” an- 
swered Pratt, who knew that a certain amount of can- 
dour was necessary in dealing with this woman. “But 


260 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
— I shall have to be away for a bit — ^week or two, per- 
haps.’^ 

“You want to see her?’^ inquired Esther. 

“Of course! I’ve some papers for her to sign,” re- 
plied Pratt. “How’^ do things stand? Coast clear?” 

“Miss Mallathorpe ’s going into Barford after lunch,” 
answered Esther. ‘ ‘ She ’ll be driving in about half-past 
two. I can manage it then. How long shall you want 
to be with her?” 

“Oh, a quarter of an hour’ll do,” said Pratt. “Ten 
minutes, if it comes to that.” 

“And after that?” asked Esther. 

' ‘ Then I want to get a train at Scaleby, ’ ’ replied Pratt, 
mentioning a railway junction which lay ten miles across 
country in another direction. ^ ‘ So make it as soon after 
two-thirty as you can. ’ ’ 

“You can see her as soon as Miss Mallathorpe ’s gone,” 
said Esther. “You’d better come into the house — I’ve 
got the key of the turret door, and all’s clear — the ser- 
vants are all at dinner. ’ ’ 

“I could do with something myself,” observed Pratt, 
who, in his anxiety, had only made a light breakfast 
that morning. “ Can it be managed ? ’ ’ 

“I’ll manage it,” she answered. “Come on — now.” 

Behind the summer-house in which they had met a 
narrow path led through the shrubberies to an old part 
of the Grange which was never used, and was, in fact, 
partly ruinous. Esther Mawson led the way along this 
until she and Pratt came to a turret in the grey walls, 
in the lower story of which a massive oaken door, heav- 
ily clamped with iron, gave entrance to a winding stair. 


DRY SHERRY 261 

locked it from inside when she and Pratt had entered, 
and preceded her companion up the stair, and across one 
or two empty and dust-covered chambers to a small room 
in which a few pieces of ancient furniture were slowly 
dropping to decay. Pratt had taken refuge in this room 
before, and he sat down in one of the old chairs and 
mopped his forehead. 

‘ ‘ I want something to drink, above everything, ’ ^ he re- 
marked. ‘ ‘ What can you get ? ’ ’ 

“Nothing but wine,” answered Esther Mawson. “As 
much as you like of that, because I’ve a stock that’s kept 
up in Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s room. I couldn’t get any ale 
without going to the butler. I can get wine and sand- 
wiches without anybody knowing.” 

“That’ll do,” said Pratt. “What sort of wine?” 

“Port, sherry, claret,” she replied. “Whichever you 
like.” 

“Sherry, then,” answered Pratt. “Bring a bottle if 
you can get it — I want a good drink.” 

The woman went away — through the disused part of 
the old house into the modern portion. She went straight 
to a certain store closet and took from it a bottle of old 
dry sherry which had been brought there from a bin 
in the cellars — it was part of a quantity of fine wine 
laid down by John Mallathorpe, years before, and its 
original owner would have been disgusted to think that 
it should ever be used for the mere purpose of quench- 
ing thirst. But Esther Mawson had another purpose in 
view, with respect to that bottle. Carrying it to her own 
sitting-room, she carefully cut off the thick mass of seal- 
ing-wax at its neck, drew the cork, and poured a little 


m THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

of the wine away. And that done, she unlocked a small 
box which stood on a corner of her dressing table, and 
took from it a glass phial, half full of a colourless liquid. 
With steady hands and sure fingers, she dropped some 
of that liquid into the wine, carefully counting the drops. 
Then she restored the phial to its hiding-place and re- 
locked the box — after which, taking up a spoon which 
lay on her table, she poured out a little of the sherry 
and smelled and tasted it. No smell — other than that 
which ought to be there ; no taste — other than was proper. 
Pratt would suspect nothing even if he drunk the whole 
bottle. 

Esther Mawson had anticipated Pratt’s desires in the 
way of refreshment, and she now went to a cupboard 
and took from it a plate of sandwiches, carefully swathed 
in a napkin. Carrying these in one hand, and the bottle 
of sherry and a glass in the other, she stole quietly back 
to the disused part of the house, and set her provender 
before its expectant consumer. Pratt poured out a 
glassful of the sherry, and drank it eagerly. 

“Good stuff that!” he remarked, smacking his lips. 
“Some of old John Mallathorpe ’s — no doubt.” 

“It was here when we came, anyhow,” replied Esther. 
“Well — I shall have to go. You’ll be all right until I 
come back.” 

“What time do you think it’ll be?” asked Pratt. 
“Make it as soon as the coast’s clear — I want to be off.” 

“As soon as ever she’s gone,” agreed Esther. “I 
heard her order the carriage for half -past two.” 

“And no fear of anybody else being about?” asked 
Pratt. ‘ ‘ That butler man, for instance ? Or servants ? ’ ’ 


DRY SHERRY 26 S 

‘H’ll see to it/’ replied Esther reassuringly. “I’ll 
I lock this door and take the key until I come back — make 
I yourself comfortable. ’ ’ 

She locked Pratt in the old room and went off, and 
the willing prisoner ate his sandwiches and drank his 
sherry, and looked out of a mullioned window on the 
wide stretches of park and coppice and the breezy moor- 
lands beyond. He indulged in some reflections — not 
wholly devoid of sentiment. He had cherished dreams 
of becoming the virtual owner of Normandale. Always 
confident in his own powers, he had believed that with 
time and patience he could have persuaded Nesta Malla- 
thorpe to marry him — why not? Now — all owing to 
that cursed and unfortunate contretemps with Parra- 
white, that seemed utterly impossible — all he could do 
now was to save himself — and to take as much as he 
could get. More than once that morning, as he made 
his way across country, he had remembered Parrawhite’s 
advice to take cash and be done with it — perhaps, he 
reflected, it might have been better. Still — when he 
presently began his final retreat, he would carry away 
with him a lot of the Mallathorpe money. 

But before long Pratt indulged in no more reflections 
— sentiment or practical. He had eaten all his sand- 
wiches; he had drunk three-quarters of the bottle of 
sherry. And suddenly he felt unusually drowsy, and he 
laid his head back in his big chair, and fell soundly asleep. 


CHAPTER XXVI 
THE TELEPHONE MESSAGE 


If Pratt had only known what was going on in the 
old quarries at Whitcliffe, about the very time that he 
was riding slowly out to Barford on his bicycle, he would 
not only have accelerated his pace, but would have taken 
good care to have chosen another route: he would also 
have made haste to exchange bicycle for railway train 
as quickly as possible, and to have got himself far away 
before anybody could begin looking for him in his usual 
haunts, or at places wherein there was a possibility of 
his being found. But Pratt knew nothing of what Byner 
had done. He was conscious of Byner ’s visit to the 
Green Man. He did not know what Pickard had been 
told by Bill Thomson. He was unaware of anything 
which Pickard had told to Byner. If he had known that 
Byner, guided by Pickard, had been to the old quarries, 
had fixed his inquiring eye on the shaft which was filled 
to its brim with water, and had got certain ideas from 
the mere sight of it, Pratt would have hastened to put 
hundreds of miles between himself and Barford as 
quickly as possible. But all that Pratt knew was that 
there was a possibility of suspicion — which might ma- 
terialize eventually, but not immediately. 

On the previous evening, Pratt — had he but known 
264 


THE TELEPHONE MESSAGE 265 

it — made a great mistake. Instead of going into Mur- 
gatroyd’s shop after he had watched Byner and Pry- 
dale away from it^ — ^he should have followed those two 
astute and crafty persons, and have ascertained some- 
thing of their movements. Had he done so, he would 
certainly not have troubled to return to Peel Row, nor 
to remain in Barford an hour longer than was absolutely 
necessary. For Pratt was sharp-witted enough when 
it came to a question of putting one and two together, 
and if he had tracked Prydale and the unknown man 
who was with him to a certain house whereto they re- 
paired as soon as they quitted Murgatroyd’s shop, he 
would have drawn an inference from the mere fact of 
their visit which would have thrown him into a cold 
sweat of fear. But Pratt, after all, was only one man, 
one brain, one body, and could not be in two places, nor 
go in two ways, at the same time. He took his own way 
— ignorant of his destruction. 

Byner also took a way of his own. As soon as he and 
Prydale left Murgatroyd^s shop, they chartered the first 
cab they met with, and ordered its driver to go to Whit- 
cliffe Moor. 

“It’s the quickest thing to do — if my theory’s cor- 
rect, ’ ’ observed Byner, as they drove along. ‘ ‘ Of course, 
it is all theory — mere theory ! But I ’ve grounds for it. 
The place — the time — mere lonely situation — that scrap 
iron lying about, which would be so useful in weighting 
a dead body! — I tell you, I shall be surprised if we don’t 
fine Parrawhite at the bottom of that water ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I shouldn ’t wonder, ’ ’ agreed Prydale. ‘ ' One thing ’s 
very certain, as we shall prove before we’re through 


266 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

with it — Pratt’s put that poor devil Murgatroyd up to 
this passage-to- America business. And a bit clumsily, 
too — fancy Murgatroyd being no better posted up than 
to tell me that Parrawhite called on him at a certain hour 
that night!” 

^^But you’ve got to remember that Pratt didn’t know 
of Parrawhite ’s affairs with Pickard, nor that he was 
at the Green Man at that hour,” rejoined Byner. ‘‘My 
belief is that Pratt thinks himself safe — that he fancies 
he’s provided for all contingencies. If things turn out 
as I think they will, I believe we shall find Pratt calmly 
seated at his desk tomorrow morning. ’ ’ 

“Well — if things do turn out as you expect, we’ll lose 
no time in seeking him there ! ’ ’ observed Prydale dryly. 
“We’d better arrange to get the job done first thing.” 

“This Mr. Shepherd’ll make no objection, I suppose?” 
asked Byner. 

‘ ‘ Objection ! Lor ’ bless you — he ’ll Ibve it ! ” exclaimed 
Prydale. “It’ll be a bit of welcome diversion to a man 
like him that’s naught to do. He’ll object none, not 
he!” 

Shepherd, a retired quarry-owner, who lived in a pic- 
turesque old stone house in the middle of Whitcliffe 
Moor, with nothing to occupy his attention but the grow- 
ing of roses and vegetables, and an occasional glance at 
the local newspapers, listened to Prydale ’s request with 
gradually rising curiosity. Byner had at once seen that 
this call was welcome to this bluff and hearty York- 
shireman, who, without any question as to their business, 
had immediately welcomed them to his hearth and 


THE TELEPHONE MESSAGE 267 
pressed liquor and cigars on them : he sized up Shepherd 
as a man to whom any sort of break in the placid course 
of retired life was a delightful event. 

“A dead man i’ that old shaft i’ one o’ my worked 
out quarries!” he exclaimed. “Ye don’t mean to say 
so! An’ how long d’yer think he might ha’ been there, 
now, Prydale?” 

“Some months, Mr. Shepherd,” replied the detective. 

“Why, then it’s high time he were taken out,” said 
Shepherd. “When might you be thinkin’ o’ doin’ t’ 
job, like?” 

“As soon as possible,” said Prydale. “Tomorrow 
morning, early, if that’s convenient to you.” 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” observed the retired 
quarry-owner. “You leave t’ job to me. I’ll get two or 
three men first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll do it 
reight. You be up there by half-past eight o’clock, and 
we’ll soon satisfy you as to whether there’s owt i’ t’ 
shape of a dead man or not i’ t’ pit. You hev’ grounds 
for believin’ ’at theer is what?” 

‘ ‘ Strong grounds ! ’ ’ replied the detective, ‘ ‘ and equally 
strong ones for believing the man came there by foul 
play, too.” 

“Say no more!” said Shepherd. “T’ mystery shall 
be cleared up. Deary me ! An ’ to think ’at I ’ve walked 
past yon theer pit many a dozen times within this last 
few o’ months, and niwer dreamed ’at theer wor owt 
in it but watter ! Howiwer, gentlemen, ye can put yer 
minds at ease — we’ll investigate the circumstances, as 
the sayin’ goes, before noon tomorrow.” 


^68 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

^‘One other matter/’ remarked Prydale. “We want 
things kept quiet. We don’t want all the folk of the 
neighbourhood round about, you know.” 

“Leave it to me,” answered Shepherd. “There’ll be 
me, and these men, and yourselves — and a pair of grap- 
plin’ irons. We’ll do it quiet and comfortable — and 
we’ll do it reight.” 

“Odd character!” remarked Byner, when he and Pry- 
dale went away. 

“Useful man — for a job of that sort,” said the detec- 
tive laconically. “Now then — are we going to let any- 
body else know what we’re after — Mr. Eldrick or Mr. 
Collingwood, for instance ? Do you want them, or either 
of them, to be present ? ’ ’ 

“No!” answered Byner, after a moment’s reflection. 
“Let us see what results. We can let them know, soon 
enough, if we’ve anything to tell. But — what about 
Pratt?” 

“Keeping an eye on him — you mean?” said Prydale. 
“You said just now that in your opinion we should find 
him at his desk. ’ ’ 

“Just so — ^but that’s no reason why he shouldn’t be 
looked after tomorrow morning,” answered Byner. 

“All right — I’ll put a man on to shadow him, from 
the time he leaves his lodgings until — ^until we want 
him,” said the detective. “That is — ^if we do want 
him. ’ ’ 

“It will be one of the biggest surprises I ever had in 
my life if we don’t!” asserted Byner. “I never felt 
more certain of anything than I do of finding Parra- 
white ’s body in that pit ! ” 


THE TELEPHONE MESSAGE 269 

It was this certainty which made Byner appear ex- 
traordinarily cool and collected, when next day, about 
noon, he walked into Eldrick’s private room, where Col- 
lingwood was at that moment asking the solicitor what 
was being done. The certainty was now established, and 
it seemed to Byner that it would have been a queer 
thing if he had not always had it. He closed the 
door and gave the two men an informing glance. 

“ Parrawhite ’s body has been found,” he said quietly. 

Eldrick started in his chair, and Collingwood looked 
a sharp inquiry. 

“Little doubt about his having been murdered, just 
as I conjectured,” continued Byner. “And his mur- 
derer had pretty cleverly weighted his body with scrap 
iron, before dropping it into a pit full of water, where 
it might have remained for a long time undiscovered. 
However — that ’s settled ! ’ ’ 

Eldrick got out the first question. 

“Pratt?” 

“Pry dale’s after him,” answered Byner. “I expect 
we shall hear something in a few minutes — if he’s in 
town. But I confess I’m a bit doubtful and anxious 
now, on that score. Because, when Prydale and I got 
down from Whitcliffe half an hour ago — where the 
body’s now lying, at the Green Man, awaiting the in- 
quest — we found Murgatroyd hanging about the police 
station. He’d come to make a clean breast of it — about 
Pratt. And it unfortunately turns out that Pratt saw 
Prydale and me go to Murgatroyd ’s shop last night, and 
afterwards went in there himself, and of course pumped 
Murgatroyd dry as to why we’d been.” 


270 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

“Why unfortunately?” asked Collingwood. 

“Because that would warn Pratt that something was 
afoot,” said Byner. “And — he may have disappeared 
during the night. He ” 

But just then Prydale came in, shaking his head. 

“I'm afraid he’s off!” he announced. “I’d a man 
watching for him outside his lodgings from an early 
hour this morning, but he never came out, and finally my 
man made an excuse and asked for him there, and then 
he heard that he’d never been home last night. And his 
office is closed.” 

“What steps are you taking?” asked Byner. 

“I’ve got men all over the place already,” replied 
Prydale. “But — if he got off in the night, as I’m afraid 
he did, we shan’t find him in Barford. It’s a most un- 
lucky thing that he saw us go to Murgatroyd’s last eve- 
ning! That, of course, would set him off; he’d know 
things were reaching a crisis.” 

Eldrick and Collingwood had arranged to lunch to- 
gether that day, and they presently went off, asking the 
detective to keep them informed of events. But up to 
half-past three o ’clock they heard no more — then, as they 
were returning along the street Byner came running up 
to them. 

“ Prydale ’s just had a telephone message from the 
butler at Normandale ! ” he exclaimed. ‘ ‘ Pratt is there ! 
— and something extraordinary is going on; the butler 
wants the police. We’re off at once — there’s Prydale 
in a motor, waiting for me. Will you follow?” 

He darted away again, and Eldrick looking round for 
a car, suddenly recognized the Mallathorpe livery. 


THE TELEPHONE MESSAGE 271 

‘‘Great Scott he said. “There’s Miss Mallathorpe 
— just driving in. Better tell her ! ’ ’ 

A moment later, he and Collingwood had joined Nesta 
in her carriage, and the horses ’ heads were turned in the 
direction towards which Byner and Prydale were already 
hastening. 


CHAPTER XXYII 
RESTORED TO ENERGY 

Esther Mawson, leaving Pratt to enjoy his sherry and 
sandwiches at his leisure, went away through the house, 
out into the gardens, and across the shrubbery to the 
stables. The coachman and grooms were at dinner — 
with the exception of one man who lived in a cottage 
at the entrance to the stable-yard. This was the very 
man she wanted to see, and she found him in the saddle- 
room, and beckoned him to its door. 

‘‘Mrs. Mallathorpe wants me to go over to Scaleby on 
an errand for her this afternoon,” she said. “Can you 
have the dog-cart ready, at the South Garden gate at 
three o ’clock sharp ? And — without saying anything to 
the coachman? It’s a private errand.” 

Of late this particular groom had received several 
commissions of this sort, and being a sharp fellow he had 
observed that they were generally given to him when 
Miss Mallathorpe was out. 

“All right,” he answered. “The young missis is go- 
ing out in the carriage at half -past two. South Garden 
gate — three sharp. Anybody but you?” 

“Only me,” replied Esther. “Don’t say anything to 
anybody about where we’re going. Get the dog-cart 
ready after the carriage has gone.” 

272 


RESTORED TO ENERGY m 

The groom nodded in comprehension, and Esther went 
back to the house and to her own room. She ought at 
that time of day to have been eating her dinner with the 
rest of the upper servants, but she had work to do which 
was of much more importance than the consumption of 
food and drink. There was going to be a flight that 
afternoon — but it would not be Pratt who would under- 
take it. Esther Mawson had carefully calculated all her 
chances as soon as Pratt told her that he was going to 
be away for a while. She knew that Pratt would not 
have left Barford for any indeflnite period unless some- 
thing had gone seriously wrong. But she knew more — 
by inference and intuition. If Pratt was going away — 
rather, since he was going away, he would have on his 
person things of value — documents, money. She meant 
to gain possession of everything that he had ; she meant 
to have a brief interview with Mrs. Mallathorpe; then 
she meant to drive to Scaleby — and to leave that part 
of the country just as thoroughly and completely as Pratt 
had meant to leave it. And now in her own room she 
was completing her preparations. There was little to 
do. She knew that if her venture came off successfully, 
she could easily afford to leave her personal possessions 
behind her, and that she would be all the more free and 
unrestricted in her movements if she departed without 
as much as a change of clothes and linen. And so by 
two o’clock she had arrayed herself in a neat and un- 
obtrusive tailor-made travelling costume, had put on an 
equally neat and plain hat, had rolled her umbrella, and 
laid it, her gloves, and a cloak where they could be 
readily picked up, and had attached to her slim waist 


274 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

a hand-bag — ^by means of a steel chain which she se- 
cured by a small padlock as soon as she had arranged 
it to her satisfaction. She was not the sort of woman 
to leave a hand-bag lying about in a railway carriage 
at any time, but in this particular instance she was not 
going to run any risk of even a moment’s forgetfulness. 

Everything was in readiness by twenty minutes past 
two, and she took up her position in a window from which 
she could see the front door of the house. At half-past 
two the carriage and its two fine bay horses came round 
from the stables; a minute or two later Nesta Malla- 
thorpe emerged from the hall; yet another minute and 
the carriage was whirling down the park in the direc- 
tion of Barford. And then Esther moved from the win- 
dow, picked up the umbrella, the cloak, the gloves, and 
went off in the direction of the room wherein she had 
left Pratt. 

No one ever went near those old rooms except on some 
special errand or business, and there was a dead silence 
all around her as she turned the key in the lock and 
slipped inside the door — to lock it again as soon as she had 
entered. There was an equally deep silence within the 
room — and for a moment she glanced a little fearfully at 
the recumbent figure in the old, deep-backed chair. 
Pratt had stretched himself fully in his easy quarters — 
his legs lay extended acros the moth-eaten hearth-rug; 
his head and shoulders were thrown far back against the 
faded tapestry, and he was so still that he might have 
been supposed to be dead. But Esther Mawson had tried 
the effect of that particular drug on a good many people, 
and she knew that the victim in this instance was merely 


RESTORED TO ENERGY ^75 

plunged in a sleep from which nothing whatever could 
wake him yet awhile. And after one searching glance 
at him, and one lifting of an eyelid by a practised finger, 
she went rapidly and thoroughly through Pratt’s pock- 
ets, and within a few minutes of entering the room had 
cleared them of everything they contained. The sealed 
packet which he had taken from his safe that morning ; 
the bank-notes which Mrs. Murgatroyd had returned in 
her indignant letter; another roll of notes, of consider- 
able value, in a note-case ; a purse containing notes and 
gold to a large amount — all those she laid one by one on 
a dust-covered table. And finally — and as calmly as if 
she were sorting linen — she swept bank-notes, gold, and 
purse into her steel-chained bag, and tore open the sealed 
envelope. 

There were five documents in that envelope — Esther 
examined each with meticulous care. The first was an 
authority to Linford Pratt to sell certain shares stand- 
ing in the name of Ann Mallathorpe. The second was a 
similar document relating to other shares : each was com- 
plete, save for Ann Mallathorpe ’s signature. The third 
document was the power of attorney which Ann Malla- 
thorpe had given to Linford Pratt : the fourth, the letter 
which she had written to him on the evening before the 
fatal accident to Harper. And the fifth was John Malla- 
thorpe ’s will. 

At last she held in her hand the half-sheet of foolscap 
paper of which Mrs. Mallathorpe, driven to distraction, 
and knowing that she would get no sympathy from her 
own daughter, had told her. She was a woman of a 
quick and an understanding mind, and she had read the 


^76 THE TALLETRAND MAXIM 

will through and grasped its significance as swiftly as 
her eyes ran over it. And those eyes turned to the un- 
conscious Pratt with a fiash of contempt — she, at any 
rate, would not follow his foolish example, and play for 
too high a stake — no, she would make hay while the sun 
shone its hottest ! She was of the Parrawhite persuasion 
— better, far better one good bird in the hand than a 
score of possible birds in the bush. 

She presently restored the five documents to the stout 
envelope, picked up her other belongings, and without 
so much as a glance at Pratt, left the room. She turned 
the key in the door and took it away with her. And now 
she went straight to a certain sitting-room which Mrs. 
Mallathorpe had tenanted by day ever since her illness. 
The final and most important stage of Esther’s venture 
was at hand. 

Mrs. Mallathorpe sat at an open window, wearily gaz- 
ing out on the park. Ever since her son ’s death she had 
remained in a more or less torpid condition, rarely talk- 
ing to any person except Esther Mawson: it had been 
manifest from the first that her daughter’s presence dis- 
tressed and irritated her, and by the doctor’s advice 
Nesta had gone to her as little as possible, while taking 
every care to guard her and see to her comfort. All day 
long she sat brooding — and only Esther Mawson, now for 
some time in her full confidence, knew that her brooding 
was rapidly developing into a monomania. Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe, indeed, had but one thought in her mind — the 
eventual circumventing of Pratt, and the destruction 
of John Mallathorpe ’s will. 

She turned slowly as the maid came in and carefully 


RESTORED TO ENERGY S77 

closed the door behind her, and her voice was irritable 
and querulous as she at once began to complain. 

“YouVe never been near me for two hours!’’ she said. 
“Your dinner time was over long since! I might have 
been wanting all sorts of things for aught you cared ! ’ ’ 

“I’ve had something else to do — for you!” retorted 
Esther, coming close to her mistress. “Listen, now! — 
I ’ve got it ! ” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe’s attitude and manner suddenly 
changed. She caught sight of the packet of papers in 
the woman’s hand, and at once sprang to her feet, white 
and trembling. Instinctively she held out her own hands 
and moved a little nearer to the maid. And Esther 
quickly put the table between them, and shook her head. 

“No — no!” she exclaimed. “No handling of any- 
thing — yet ! You keep your hands off ! You were ready 
enough to bargain with Pratt — now you’ll have to bar- 
gain with me. But I’m not such a fool as he was — I’ll 
take cash down, and be done with it.” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe rested her trembling hands on the 
table and bent forward across it. 

“Is it — is it — really — the will?” she whispered 
hoarsely. 

Instead of replying in words, Esther, taking care to 
keep at a safe distance behind the table, and with the 
door only a yard or two in her rear, drew out the docu- 
ments one by one and held them up. 

“The will!” she said. “Your letter to Pratt. The 
power of attorney. Two papers that he brought for you 
to sign. That’s the lot! And now, as I said, we’ll bar- 
gain.” 


278 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

Where is — he?” asked Mrs. Mallathorpe. “How — 
how did you get them ? Does he know — did he give them 
up?” 

“If you want to know, he’s safe and sound asleep in 
one of the rooms in the old part of the house, ’ ’ answered 
Esther. “I drugged him. There’s something afoot — 
something gone wrong with his schemes — at Barford, 
and he came here on his way — elsewhere. And so — I 
took the chance. Now then — what are you going to give 
me?” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe, whose nervous agitation was becom- 
ing more and more marked, wrung her hands. 

“I’ve nothing to give!” she cried. “You know very 
well he’s had the management of everything — I don’t 
know how things are ” 

“Stuff!” exclaimed Esther. “I know better than 
that. You’ve a lot of ready money in that desk there 
— you know you drew a lot out of the bank some time 
ago, and it’s there now. You kept it for a contingency 
— the contingency ’s here. And — you ’ve your rings — the 
diamond and ruby rings — I know what they ’re worth ! 
Come on, now — I mean to have the whole lot, so it’s no 
use hesitating. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Mallathorpe looked at the maid’s bold and reso- 
lute eyes — and then at the papers. And she glanced 
from eyes and papers to a bright fire which burned in 
the grate close by. 

“You’ll give everything up?” she asked nervously. 

“Put those bank-notes that you’ve got in your desk, 
and those rings that are in your jewel-case, on the table 
between us,” answered Esther, “and I’ll hand over these 


RESTORED TO ENERGY 279 

papers on the instant ! I ’m 'not going to be such a fool 
as to keep them — not I ! Come on, now ! — isn ’t this the 
chance youVe wanted?” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe drew a small bunch of keys from 
her gown, and went over to the desk which Esther had 
pointed to. Within a minute she was back again at 
the table, a roll of bank notes in one hand, half a dozen 
magnificent rings in the other. She put both hands half- 
way across and unclasped them. And Esther Mawson, 
with a light laugh, threw the papers over the table, and 
hastily swept their price into her handbag. 

Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s nerves suddenly became steady. 
With a deep sigh she caught up the various documents 
and looked them quickly and thoroughly over. Then 
she tore them into fragments and fiung the fragments 
in the fire — and as they blazed up, she turned and looked 
at Esther Mawson in a way which made Esther shrink a 
little. But she was already at the door — and she opened 
it and walked out and down the stair. 

She was half-way across the hall beneath, where the 
butler and one of the footmen were idly talking, when 
a sharp cry from above made her then look up. Mrs. 
Mallathorpe, suddenly restored to life and energy, was 
leaning over the balustrade. 

‘ ‘ Stop that woman, you men ! ’ ’ she said. ‘ ‘ Seize her ! 
Fasten her up! — lock the door wherever you put her! 
She ’s stolen my rings, and a lot of money out of my desk 1 
And telephone instantly to Barford, and tell them to 
^end the police here — at once ! ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXVIII 
THE WOMAN IN BLACK 

Nesta Mallathorpe, who had just arrived in Barford 
when Eldrick caught sight of her, was seriously startled 
as he and Collingwood came running up to her carriage. 
The solicitor entered it without ceremony or explana- 
tion, and turning to the coachman bade him drive back 
to Normandale as fast as he could make his horses go. 
Meanwhile Collingwood turned to Nesta. “Don’t be 
alarmed!” he said. “Something is happening at the 
Grange — your mother has just telephoned to the police 
here to go there at. once — there they are — in front of us, 
in that car ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Did my mother say if she was in danger ? ’ ’ demanded 
Nesta. 

“She can’t be!” exclaimed Eldrick, turning from the 
coachman, as the horses were whipped round and the car- 
riage moved off. “She evidently gave orders for the 
message. No — Pratt’s there! An^— but of course, you 
don’t know — the police want Pratt. They’ve been 
searching for him since noon. He’s wanted for mur- 
der ! ’ ’ 

“Don’t frighten Miss Mallathorpe,” said Collingwood. 
* ‘ The murder has nothing to do with present events, ’ ’ he 
went on reassuringly. “It’s something that happened 
280 


THE WOMAN IN BLACK 281 

some time ago. Don’t be afraid about your mother — 
there are plenty of people round her, you know.” 

can’t help feeling anxious if Pratt is there,” she 
answered. “How did he come to be there? It’s not 
an hour since I left home. This is all some of Esther 
Mawson’s work! And we shall have to wait nearly an 
hour before we know what is going on! — it’s all uphill 
work to Normandale, and the horses can’t do it in the 
time.” 

“Eldrick!” said Collingwood, as the carriage came 
abreast of the Central Station and a long line of motor- 
cars. ‘ ‘ Stop the coachman ! Let ’s get one of those cars 
— ^we shall get to Normandale twice as quickly. The 
main thing is to relieve Miss Mallathorpe of anxiety. 
Now ! ” he went on, as they hastily left the carriage and 
transferred themselves to a car quickly scented by Eld- 
rick as the most promising of the lot. “Tell the driver 
to go as fast as he can — the other car’s not very far in 
front — tell him to catch it up. ’ ’ 

Eldrick leaned over and gave his orders. 

“I’ve told him not only to catch him up, but to get 
in front of ’em,” he said, settling down again in his 
seat. “This is a better car than theirs, and we shall 
be there first. Now, Miss Mallathorpe, don ’t you bother 
— this is probably going to be the clearing-up point of 
everything. One feels certain, at any rate — Pratt has 
reached the end of his tether ! ’ ’ 

“If I seem to bother,” replied Nesta, “it’s because 
I know that he and Esther Mawson are at Normandale 
— working mischief.” 

“We shall be there in half an hour,” said Colling- 


^83 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

wood, as their own car ran past that in which the de- 
tectives and Byner were seated. ^‘They can’t do much 
mischief in that time. ’ ’ 

None of the three spoke again until the car pulled up 
suddenly at the gates of Normandale Park. The lodge- 
keeper, an old man, coming out to open them, approached 
the door of the car on seeing Nesta within. 

‘‘There’s a young woman just gone up to the house 
that wants to see you very particular, miss,” he said. 
“I toll’d her that you’d gone to Barford, but she said 
she’d come a long way, and she’d wait till you come back. 
She’s going across the park there — crossin’ yon path.” 

He pointed over the level sward to the slight figure of 
a woman in black, who was obviously taking a near cut 
up to the Grange. Nesta looked wonderingly across the 
park as the car cleared the gate and went on up the 
drive. 

“Who can she be?” she said musingly. “A woman 
from a long way — to see me ? ” 

‘ ‘ She ’ll get to the house soon after we reach it, ’ ’ said 
Eldrick. “Let’s attend to this more pressing business 
first. We should know what’s afoot here in a minute or 
two. ’ ’ 

But it was somewhat difficult to make out or to dis- 
cover what really was afoot. The car stopped at the 
hall door: the second car came close behind it; Nesta, 
Collingwood, Eldrick, Byner, and the detectives poured 
into the hall — encountered a much mystified-looking but- 
ler, a couple of footmen, and the groom whose services 
Esther Mawson had requisitioned, and who, weary of 
waiting for her, had come up to the house. 


THE WOMAN IN BLACK . 283 

“What’s all this?” asked Eldrick, taking the situation 
into his own hands. “What’s the matter? Why did 
you send for the police ? ’ ’ 

“Mrs. Mallathorpe’s orders, sir,” answered the butler, 
with an apologetic glance at his young mistress. 
“Eeally, sir, I don’t know — exactly — what is the mat- 
ter! We are all so confused! What happened was, 
that not very long after Miss Mallathorpe had left for 
town in the carriage, Esther Mawson, the maid, came 
downstairs from Mrs. Mallathorpe’s room, and was cross- 
ing the lower part of the hall, when Mrs. Mallathorpe 
suddenly appeared up there and called to me and James 
to stop her and lock her up, as she’d stolen money and 
jewels! We were to lock her up and telephone for the 
police, sir, and to add that Mr. Pratt was here. ’ ’ 

“Well?” demanded Eldrick. 

“We did lock her up, sir! She’s in my pantry,” con- 
tinued the butler, ruefully. “We’ve got her in there 
because there are bars to the windows — she can’t get 
out of that. A terrible time we had, too, sir — she fought 
us like — like a maniac, protesting all the time that Mrs. 
Mallathorpe had given her what she had on her. Of 
course, sir, we don’t know what she may have on her — 
we simply obeyed Mrs. Mallathorpe.” 

“Where is Mrs. Mallathorpe?” asked Collingwood. 
“Is she safe?” 

“Oh, quite safe, sir!” replied the butler. “She re- 
turned to her room after giving those orders. Mrs. Mal- 
lathorpe appeared to be — quite calm, sir.” 

Prydale pushed himself forward — unceremoniously 
and insistently. 


284 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘‘Keep that woman locked up!’’ he said. First of 
all — ^where’s Pratt?’’ 

^^Mrs. Mallathorpe said he would be found in a room 
in the old part of the house,” answered the butler, shak- 
ing his head as if he were thoroughly mystified. “She 
said you would find him fast asleep — Mawson had 
drugged him ! ’ ’ 

Prydale looked at Byner and at his fellow-detectives. 
Then he turned to the butler. 

“Come on!” he said brusquely. “Take us there at 
once!” He glanced at Eldrick. “I’m beginning to see 
through it, Mr. Eldrick!” he whispered. “This maid’s 
caught Pratt for us. Let’s hope he’s still ” 

But before he could say more, and just as the butler 
opened a door which led into a corridor at the rear of 
the hall, a sharp crack which was unmistakably that of 
a revolver, rang through the house, waking equally sharp 
echoes in the silent room. And at that, Nesta hurried 
up the stairway to her mother’s apartment, and the men, 
after a hurried glance at each other, ran along the cor- 
ridor after the butler and the footmen. 

Pratt came out of his stupor much sooner than Esther 
Mawson had reckoned on. According to her previous 
experiments with the particular drug which she had ad- 
ministered to him, he ought to have remained in a pro- 
found and an undisturbed slumber until at least five 
o’clock. But he woke at four — woke suddenly, sharply, 
only conscious at first of a terrible pain in his head, which 
kept him groaning and moaning in his chair for a min- 
ute or two before he fairly realized where he was and 


THE WOMAN IN BLACK 285 

what had happened. As the pain became milder and 
gave way to a dull throbbing and a general sense of dis- 
comfort, he looked round out of aching eyes and saw the 
bottle of sherry. And so dull were his wits that his only 
thought at first was that the wine had been far stronger 
than he had known, and that he had drunk far too much 
of it, and that it had sent him to sleep — and just then 
his wandering glance fell on some papers which Esther 
Mawson had taken from one of his pockets and thrown 
aside as of no value. 

He leapt to his feet, trembling and sweating. His 
hands, shaking as if smitten with a sudden palsy, went 
to his pockets — he tore off his coat and turned his pock- 
ets out, as if touch and feeling were not to be believed, 
and his eyes must see that there was really nothing there. 
Then he snatched up the papers on the floor and found 
nothing but letters, and odd scraps of unimportant mem- 
oranda. He stamped his feet on those things, and began 
to swear and curse, and Anally to sob and whine. The 
shock of his discovery had driven all his stupefaction 
away by that time, and he knew what had happened. 
And his whining and sobbing was not that of despair, 
but the far worse and flercer sobbing and whining of rage 
and terrible anger. If the woman who had tricked him 
had been there he would have torn her limb from limb, 
and have glutted himself with revenge. But — he was 
alone. 

And presently, after moving around his prison more 
like a wild beast than a human being, his senses having 
deserted him for a while, he regained some composure, 
and glanced about him for means of escape. He went to 


286 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

the door and tried it. But the old, substantial oak stood 
firm and fast — ^nothing but a crow-bar would break that 
door. And so he turned to the mullioned window, set 
in a deep recess. 

He knew that it was thirty or forty feet above the 
level of the ground — ^but there was much thick ivy grow-? 
ing on the walls of Normandale Grange, and it might 
be possible to climb down by its aid. With a great ef- 
fort he forced open one of the dirt-encrusted sashes and 
looked out — and in the same instant he drew in his head 
with a harsh groan. The window commanded a full 
view of the hall door — and he had seen Prydale, and two 
other detectives, and the stranger from London whom 
he believed to be a detective, hurrying from their motor- 
car into the house. 

There was but one thing for it, now. Esther Maw- 
son had robbed him of everything that was on him in 
the way of papers and money. But in his hip-pocket 
she had left a revoler which Pratt had carried, always 
loaded, for some time. And now, without the least hes- 
itation, he drew it out and sent one of its bullets through 
his brain. 

Eldrick and Collingwood, returning to the hall from 
the room in which they and the detectives had found 
Pratt’s dead body, stood a little later in earnest con- 
versation with Prydale, who had just come there from an 
interview with Esther Mawson. Nesta Mallathorpe sud- 
denly called to them from the stairs, at the same time 
beckoning them to go up to her. 

“Will you come with me and speak to my mother?” 


THE WOMAN IN BLACK 287 

she said. ^‘She knows you are here, and she wants to 
say something about what has happened — something 
about that document which Pratt said he possessed. ’ ’ 
Eldrick and Collingwood exchanged glances without 
speaking. They followed Nesta into her mother’s sit- 
ting-room. And instead of the semi-invalid whom they 
had expected to find there, they saw a woman who had 
evidently regained not only her vivacity and her spirits 
but her sense of authority and her inclination to exercise 
it. 

am sorry that you gentlemen should have been 
drawn into all this wretched business!” she exclaimed, 
as she pointed the two men to chairs. “Everything 
must seem very strange, and indeed have seemed so for 
some time. But I have been the victim of as bad a 
scoundrel as ever lived — I’m not going to be so hypo- 
critical as to pretend that I’m sorry he’s dead — I’m not! 
I only wish he’d met his proper fate — on the scaffold. 
I don’t know what you may have heard, or gathered — 
my daughter herself, from what she tells me, has only 
the vaguest notions — but I wanted to tell you, Mr. Eld- 
rick, and you, Mr. Collingwood — seeing that you’re one 
a solicitor and the other a barrister, that Pratt invented 
a most abominable plot against me, which, of course, 

hasn’t a word of truth in it, yet was so clever that ” 

Eldrick suddenly raised his hand. 

“Mrs. Mallathorpe ! ” he said quietly. “I think you 
had better let me speak before you go any further. Per- 
haps we — Mr. Collingwood and I — know more than you 
think. Don’t trifle, Mrs. Mallathorpe, for your own and 
your daughter’s sake! Tell the truth — and answer a 


288 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
plain question, which I assure you, is asked in your own 
interest. What have you done with John Mallathorpe ’s 
will?” 

Collingwood, anxious for Nesta, was watching her 
closely, and now he saw her turn a startled and inquir- 
ing look on her mother, who, in her turn, dashed a sur- 
prised glance at Eldrick. But if Mrs. Mallathorpe was 
surprised, she was also indignant, or she simulated in- 
dignation, and she replied to the solicitor ’s question with 
a sharp retort. 

“What do you mean? — John Mallathorpe ’s will!” she 
exclaimed. “What do I know of John Mallathorpe ’s 
will ? There never was ” 

“Mrs. Mallathorpe!” interrupted Eldrick. “Don’t! 
I’m speaking in your interest, I tell you! There was 
a will! It was made on the morning of John Malla- 
thorpe ’s death. It was found by Mr. Collingwood ’s late 
grandfather, Antony Bartle: when he died suddenly in 
my office, it fell into Pratt ’s hands. That is^ the docu- 
ment which Pratt held over you — and not an hour ago, 
Esther Mawson took it from Pratt, and she gave it to 
you. Again I ask you — what have you done with 
it?” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe hesitated a moment. Then she sud- 
denly faced Eldrick with a defiant look. “Let them — 
let everybody — do what they like!” she exclaimed. 
“ It ’s burnt ! I threw it in that fire as soon as I got it ! 
And now ” 

Nesta interrupted her mother. 

“Does any one know the terms of that will?” she 
asked, looking at Eldrick. “Tell me! — if you know. 


THE WOMAN IN BLACK 289 

Hush!’’ she went on, as Mrs. Mallathorpe tried to speak 
again. ‘ ‘ I will know I ’ ’ 

“Yes!” answered Eldrick. “Esther Mawson knows 
them. She read the will carefully. She told Prydale 
just now what they were. With the exception of three 
legacies of ten thousand pounds each to your mother, 
your brother, and yourself, John Mallathorpe left every- 
thing he possessed to the town of Barford for an educa- 
tional trust.” 

“Then,” asked Nesta quietly, as she made a peremp- 
tory sign to her mother to be silent, ‘ ‘ we — never had any 
right to be here — at all ? ” 

“I’m afraid not,” replied Eldrick. 

“Then of course we shall go,” said Nesta. “That’s 
certain! Do you hear that, mother? That’s my de- 
cision. It ’s final ! ’ ’ 

“You can do what you like,” retorted Mrs. Malla- 
thorpe sullenly. “I am not going to be frightened by 
anything that Esther Mawson says. Nor by what you 
say !” she continued, turning on Eldrick. “All that has 
got to be proved. Who can prove it? What can prove 
it ? Do you think I am going to give up my rights with- 
out fighting for them? I shall swear that every word 
of Esther Mawson ’s is a lie! No one can bring forward 
a will that doesn’t exist. And what concern is it of 
yours, Mr. Eldrick? What right have you?” 

“You are quite right, Mrs. Mallathorpe,” said Eld- 
rick. “It is no concern of mine. And so ” 

He turned to the door — and as he turned the door 
opened, to admit the old butler who looked apologetically 
but earnestly at Nesta as he stepped forward. 


290 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

“A Mrs. Gaukrodger wishes to see you on very partic- 
ular business,” he murmured. ‘‘She’s been waiting 
some little time — something, she says, about some papers 
she has just found — belonging to the late Mr. John Mal- 
lathorpe. ’ ’ 

Collingwood, who was standing close to Nesta, caught 
all the butler said. 

“Gaukrodger!” he exclaimed, with a quick glance 
at Eldrick. “That was the name of the manager — a 
witness. See the woman at once,” he whispered to 
Nesta. 

“Bring Mrs. Gaukrodger in, Dickenson,” said Nesta. 
‘ ‘ Stay — 1 11 come with you, and bring her in myself. ’ ’ 

She returned a moment later with a slightly built, 
rather careworn woman dressed in deep mourning — the 
woman in black whom they had seen crossing the park — 
who looked nervously round her as she entered. 

“What is it you have for me, Mrs. Gaukrodger?” 
asked Nesta. “Papers belonging to the late Mr. John 
Mallathorpe? How — where did you get them?” 

Mrs. Gaukrodger drew a large envelope from under 
her cloak. “This, miss,” she answered. “One paper 
— I only found it this morning. In this way,” she went 
on, addressing herself to Nesta. “When my husband 
was killed, along with Mr. John Mallathorpe, they, of 
course, brought home the clothes he was wearing. 
There were a lot of papers in the pockets of the coat — 
two pockets full of them. And I hadn’t heart or cour- 
age to look at them at that time, miss! — I couldn’t, and 
I locked them up in a box. I never looked at them un- 
til this very day — ^but this morning I happened to open 


THE WOMAN IN BLACK 291 

that box, and I saw them, and I thought I’d see what 
they were. And this was one — you see, it’s in a plain 
envelope — it was sealed, but there’s no writing on it. 
I cut the envelope open, and drew the paper out, and 
I saw at once it was Mr. John Mallathorpe ’s will — so I 
came straight to you with it.” 

She handed the envelope over to Nesta, who at once 
gave it to Eldrick. The solicitor hastily drew out the 
enclosure, glanced it over, and turned sharply to Col- 
lingwood with a muttered exclamation. 

‘ ‘ Good gracious ! ” he said. ‘ ‘ That man Cobcrof t was 
right! There was a duplicate! And — here it is!” 

Mrs. Mallathorpe had come nearer. The sight of the 
half sheet of foolscap in Eldrick ’s hands seemed to fas- 
cinate her. And the expression of her face as she came 
close to his side was so curious that the solicitor invol- 
untarily folded up the will and hastily put it behind 
his back — he had not only seen that expression but had 
caught sight of Mrs. Mallathorpe ’s twitching fingers. 

“Is — that — that — another will?” she whispered. 
“John Mallathorpe ’s?” 

“Precisely the same — another copy — duly signed and 
witnessed !” answered Eldrick firmly. “What you fool- 
ishly did was done for nothing. And — it’s the most for- 
tunate thing in the world, Mrs. Mallathorpe, that this 
has turned up ! — most fortunate for you ! ’ ’ 

Mrs. Mallathorpe steadied herself on the edge of the 
table and looked at him fixedly. “Everything’ll have 
to be given up?” she asked. 

‘ ‘ The terms of this will will be carried out, ’ ’ answered 
Eldrick. 


292 THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 

‘‘Will — will they make me give up — what we’ve — 
saved?” she whispered. 

“Mother!” said Nesta appealingly. “Don’t! Come 
away somewhere and let me talk to you — come!” 

But Mrs. Mallathorpe shook off her daughter’s hand 
and turned again to Eldrick. 

“Will they?” she demanded. “Answer!” 

“I don’t think you’ll find the trustees at all hard when 
it comes to a question of account,” answered Eldrick. 
“They’ll probably take matters over from now and ig- 
nore anything that’s happened during the past two 
years. ’ ’ 

Again Nesta tried to lead her mother away, and again 
Mrs. Mallathorpe pushed the appealing hand from her. 
All her attention was fixed on Eldrick. “And — and will 
the police give me — now — what they found on that 
woman?” she whispered. 

“I have no doubt they will,” replied Eldrick. “It’s 
— yours. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Mallathorpe drew a sigh of relief. She looked 
at the solicitor steadily for a monent — then without an- 
other word she turned and went away — to find Prydale. 

Eldrick turned to Nesta. 

“Don’t forget,” he said in a low voice, “it’s a terrible 
blow to her, and she’s been thinking of your interests! 
Leave her alone for a while — she ’ll get used to the altered 
circumstances. I ’m sorry for her — and for you ! ’ ’ 

But Nesta made a sign of dissent. 

“There’s no need to be sorry for me, Mr. Eldrick,” 
she answered. “It’s a greater relief than you can real- 
ize.” She turned from him and went over to Mrs. Gauk- 


THE WOMAN IN BLACK 293 

rodger who had watched this scene without fully com- 
prehending it. ‘‘Come with me,” she said. “You look 
very tired and you must have some tea and rest awhile — 
come now.” 

Eldrick and Collingwood, left alone, looked at each 
other in silence for a moment. Then the solicitor shook 
his head expressively. 

“Well, that’s over!” he exclaimed. “I must go back 
and hand this will over to the two trustees. But you, 
Collingwood — stay here a bit — if ever that girl needs 
company and help, it ’s now I ’ ’ 

“I’m stopping,” said Collingwood. 

He remained for a time where Eldrick left him; at 
last he went down to the hall and out into the gardens. 
And presently Nesta came to him there, and as if with a 
mutual understanding they walked away into the nearer 
stretches of the park. Normandale had never looked 
more beautiful than it did that afternoon, and in the 
midst of a silence which up to then neither of them had 
cared to break, Collingwood suddenly turned to the girl 
who had just lost it. 

“Are you sure that you won’t miss all this — greatly?” 
he asked. “Just think!” 

“I’d rather lose more than this, however fond I’d got 
of it, than go through what I’ve gone through lately,” 
she answered frankly. “Do you know what I want to 
do?” 

“No — I think not,” he said. “What?” 

“If it’s possible — to forget all about this,” she replied. 
“And — if that’s also possible — to help my mother to for- 


THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 


294 » 

get, too. Don’t think too hardly of her — I don’t sup- 
pose any of us know how much all this place — and the 
money — meant to her.” 

‘T’ve got no hard thoughts about her,” said Colling- 
wood. ^H’m sorry for her. But — is it too soon to talk 
about the future?” 

Nesta looked at him in a way which showed him that 
she only half comprehended the question. But there was 
sufficient comprehension in her eyes to warrant him in 
taking her hands in his. 

“You know why I didn’t go to India?” he said, bend- 
ing his face to hers. 

“I — guessed!” she answered shyly. 

Then Collingwood, at this suddenly arrived supreme 
moment, became curiously bereft of speech. And after 
a period of silence, during which, being in the shadow 
of a grove of beech-trees which kindly concealed them 
from the rest of the world, they held each other’s hands, 
all that he could find to say was one word. 

“Well?” 

Nesta laughed. 

“Well — what?” she whispered. 

Collingwood suddenly laughed too and put his arm 
round her. 

“It’s no good!’ he said. “I’ve often thought of what 
I’d to say to you — and now I’ve forgotten all. Shall 
I say it all at once ! ” 

“Wouldn’t it be best?” she murmured with another 
laugh. 

‘ ‘ Then — you ’re going to marry me ? ” he asked. 

“Am I to answer — all at once?” she said. 


THE WOMAN IN BLACK 295 

‘‘One word will do!’^ ke exclaimed, drawing her to 
him. 

‘ ‘ Ah ! ^ ’ she whispered as she lifted her face to his. ‘ ‘ I 
couldn’t say it all in one word. But — ^we’ve lots of time 
before us!” 


THE END 


LLMr?9 





































